


On The Wing

by Kitty_Kinneas



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cap-Iron Man Big Bang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5310971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_Kinneas/pseuds/Kitty_Kinneas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a land where riding gryphons is the norm, Stevyn Chiefson is used to getting his own way. The one who person who won't bend to his will is Antony Iron Man. Their heated arguments eventually lead to something far more heated, until Stevyn's obligations as Chiefson threaten to deny them both their own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Wing

**Author's Note:**

> My effort for this year's Cap/Iron Man Big Bang. It's my first time! I was super-lucky to get to work with angelinoshi, who made a beautiful piece of artwork for me!
> 
> This fic was beta'd by angelinoshi and imafriendlydalek. Any remaining errors are entirely my own.

[Link to Full-Size Pic](https://40.media.tumblr.com/0d0688ae127df186683ccae6978e1ad5/tumblr_nyjdhqhcD91ru3h3do1_1280.jpg)

There was a hush in the air. Night still hung about the sky like the ragged ends of his warcloak, stained now with the blood of dawn. His clutch was hunkered down, their gryphs crouched close to the rocky ledge of the cliff they hid on as they waited for his command.

 

Stevyn could hear his own heartbeat and the breath of his clutch, the creak of their gear as they shifted minutely, trying to keep their muscles from cramping. He glanced back over his shoulder, blond braid sliding across the furs around the collar of his cloak.

 

“A moment, no more,” he whispered.

 

No one replied, but he felt their anticipation, their immediate tensing.

 

He continued to watch over his shoulder as colour began to spill into the purpled-black sky, light starting to blossom with the onset of dawn. He took a slow breath. Prepared.

 

Beneath him, he felt his gryph flex. They'd been flying together for long enough that he and Leialak knew each other inside and out, and he could feel Stevyn's anticipation. Leialak was smallish, as gryphs went. The combination of black falcon and jaguar made him fast and agile, but he was never going to win any brute strength contests. Stevyn didn't mind. He preferred to trust his own strength, and use Leialak's speed to his advantage. The way his inky feathers faded attractively into his spotted, black-gold-red-orange back half had also impressed many a potential lover. Leialak’s beauty had gained Stevyn more than a few companions in his furs over the time since he'd started riding.

 

“Be ready,” Stevyn whispered, and heard the churring of avian throats, clicking of claws on rock as his clutch readied their gryphs.

 

As the sun finally burst over the horizon, striking down gold across the sleeping camp below them, Stevyn twitched Leialak's reins. The gryph screeched and surged up from the rock, a black-and-gold streak of muscle and feather as he took one single bound that sent him plummeting off the edge of the cliff. The rest of the clutch took up the scream - men, women and gryphs alike - as they stooped, the sun at their backs.

 

The enemy spilled from their tents, their gryphs stirring and beginning to screech and scream a challenge back. Riders sprinted for the picketed mounts while others squinted up into the sun, lifting their hands to protect their eyes and trying to see what was coming.

 

It was exactly why Stevyn had timed the attack as he had. Even the riders who made it to their mounts were forced to try get into the air with little run-up and they had to fly into the sun, his clutch's flickering silhouettes blinding them with flashes of sunlight.

 

Stevyn turned Leialak's head slightly, aiming him at one of the riders who had managed to heave his gryph laboriously off the ground with powerful down strokes of massive wings. It was some combination of maybe vulture and lion, huge and powerful, and Stevyn knew if he didn't take it down now, it would cause all number of headaches for his clutch's smaller, swifter breeds.

 

They cannoned into it, still at full stoop, and Leialak sank his beak into the front edge of one strong wing, biting down hard. His claws dug into the other gryph's feathered chest and Stevyn stood up in his stirrups, leaning over Leialak's beating wings to slash his sword down towards the other rider. His sword struck true and rider and gryph pitched over backwards.

 

Stevyn jerked up on the reins and Leialak let go of the heavier gryphon, pushing away from its chest with a powerful thrust of his hind legs and a scream of triumph. They wheeled about, wings outstretched and lifting them back into the air in hopes of stooping on their next victim, but a rider on what Stevyn thought could be a goshawk gryph came in at them from the side.

 

Stevyn yipped a command to Leialak and he twisted in the air, bringing his claws and paws up to lock with the oncoming mount. Stevyn jerked in the saddle as the other gryph bucked in the air, and Leialak's wings fluttered on a loss of equilibrium. All at once, Stevyn was upside down, hanging in the saddle only by the strength of his legs. If he slipped free, only his Last Line would save him, and that not for very long.

 

His people didn't strap to their gryphs. They respected and loved their gryphs and were of the belief that they deserved a fighting chance in the event of their rider's death. A dead rider was a dead weight that could slow and impede even the strongest flier, even bringing them down in the worst case scenario. The Last Line was just that – a single line linking rider to saddle. It would take the rider's weight for around thirty seconds at best, providing a last ditch chance at getting back into the saddle.

 

But Stevyn didn't need to rely on that yet. He gripped at Leialak's shoulder feathers with his free hand as he tried desperately to fight out of the grip of the other gryphon, who had him firmly on his back, its rear claws scratching at his belly.

 

Stevyn tried to pull himself further up, flailing his sword around Leialak's flexing body in attempt to stab at the other gryph. He struck only air. Beginning to slip from the saddle, Stevyn cursed, bringing his arm back around to try and hitch himself back up into it.

 

There was a scream of challenge and a flicker of silver feathers flashed across the corner of his eye, then the other gryph was bodily torn off Leialak and they began to fall. From there it was an easy task for him to simply tip back and into a dive, snap his wings open and bring them up again.

 

Stevyn scanned the sky and grinned fiercely to see Buk dispatching with the other gryph's rider easily.

 

The rest was a rout, the enemy camp taken unawares and overwhelmed by the skill of Stevyn's clutch. It wasn't long before he was perching Leialak on the cliff's edge, watching them drive off the rest of the would-be invaders, then calling them back to rejoin him.

 

There were a few scrapes, wounds and broken limbs among their number, but not one death or maiming injury to rider or gryph.

 

“They should think twice before trying that again,” Buk remarked, his silver gryph coming alongside Leialak. She was a gray hawk in her bird half with an elegant and regal baring. Her cat half was margay, so her feathers and fur were varying shades of grey and silver.

 

“Aye,” he replied, sliding out of the saddle and detaching his Last Line.

 

He went to Leialak's head, touching his chest.

 

“Up,” he said and the gryph lifted onto his hind legs, folding back into a sit, his claws balanced on Steve's shoulders. He pushed his fingers through his belly fur where it was stained pink.

 

“I thought as much,” he muttered.

 

“Is it bad?” Buk asked, dismounting as well and coming around.

 

“I don't think so. He flew out the battle unhampered. But I might have to rest him a few sunsets.”

 

“Oh, he'll love that,” Buk remarked dryly.

 

Stevyn gave a wry smirk.

 

“Don't I know it?” He looked around. “Come, the clutch is weary and deserving of a hot breakfast and a good fire. We shan't sleep alone after such a victory.”

 

Buk laughed.

 

“Wingstep, Akeeta,” he said and she lowered her wing so he could easily climb into her saddle.

 

Stevyn followed suit and they dove from the cliff again, this time wheeling around and flying back across it.

 

By now, the sun was beginning to bleed heat through the misty morning, but it was weak at this time of year, and the riders needed their furs. Stevyn drew his warcloak around him as they flew, squinting against the rising sun in their eyes. He couldn't see much, but he trusted Leialak to bring him home, and his gryph had never let him down in all the time they had flown together.

 

Nor did he let him down today.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

As they crested the Dragon's Fangs, the ragged, pointed foothills that marched in a semi-circle around the base of the mountain up the side of which the village ranged, and winged towards their home, Stevyn found himself smiling.

 

Renevaar always had this affect on him. The town was built into the side of the Dragon's Tongue mountain, the people's homes both built on and carved into the rock. It was surrounded by forest, and at its highest point sat their meeting hall and the chief's home. Above that was a system of hot springs, the heated water used extensively and creatively by the village beyond the obvious use of bathing, though they certainly used it for that frequently enough.

 

At the center of the village was the Nest, an extensive complex of above- and below-ground areas for the hatching, maturing and keeping of the gryphs, which was for all intents and purposes the centre of Renevaar life.

 

It was here Stevyn lead his clutch now, their gryphs churring happily to one another and those waiting for them as they landed.

 

They lead their gryphs inside one of the main buildings and relieved them of their tack, giving them well-deserved meals and treats dependent on their specific breeds and needs. For his part, Stevyn fed Leialak a bowl of insects, then a couple of chickens. The gryphon would hunt for himself later anyhow, so it wouldn't do to over-feed him.

 

While he ate, Stevyn groomed Leialak and a gryphealer took a look at his belly, sliding in underneath him. Stevyn zipped together pinions that had come adrift in flight, and re-settled feathers that had come out of alignment, cooing and crooning to Leialak the whole time to keep him calm for the gryphealer. Not that he was bothered, far too interested in his breakfast.

 

The gryphealer cleaned the scratches, humming to herself in thought as she parted Leialak's fur to do so.

 

Stevyn finished his work and went to crouch by her, his warcloak puddling on the floor behind him.

 

“How is it?”

 

“He's well. He just requires rest. No rider for seven sunsets.”

 

Stevyn nodded, rubbing between Leialak's shoulder blades.

 

“I understand.”

 

“And check it after he hunts, in case he catches it on something.”

 

“Thank you,” Stevyn replied, bowing his head in respect to her skill. She smiled and bowed back, her fisted hand to her chest.

 

“I look forward to seeing you at the feast of victory tonight, Chiefson,” she said.

 

“And I, you.” He grinned winningly and, once he had seen to the last of Leialak's needs, left the Nest and headed up the main pathway through the centre of the village.

 

It was carefully cobbled and maintained as a matter of course, the steep incline of the mountainside meaning a heavy rain could cause far too dangerous footing or even a miniature mudslide if it wasn't. Plus it was easier for gryph claws to climb.

 

There would be much merrymaking tonight, he was sure, but for now all he wanted was a bath, breakfast and a sleep.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Stevyn slept the morning away and rose again at midday famished. He wandered out into the dining hall to find half his clutch there, already telling stories ten times elaborated from the truth.

 

“Save it for the feast,” Stevyn said as he strode in, scratching idly at the star tattooed on his right pectoral.

 

They cheered his presence and welcomed him to the table and he gladly ate virtually everything they put before him.

 

He went to check on Leialak, who had hunted and was none the worse for wear, and spent the afternoon training with a pike, taking on various members of his own and other clutches – and beating them, of course.

 

Then he went to bathe again.

 

It was often teased among the other villages and clans that the citizens of Renevaar were the cleanest for leagues around. Stevyn's father claimed they were all just jealous of the hot springs the Renevaaran spent so much of their time in and around. Little wonder if they were. It was a luxury Stevyn partook of frequently.

 

Once clean, the last of his aches eased by the heat and steam, he returned to his chambers to dress.

 

He wasn't as fussy a dresser as some, but he certainly took a bit of time about it. He chose a pair of pale grey deerskin breeches and strapped a dagger to his thigh for no reason other than that the strapping was attractive. He followed with a lace-up leather vest, softened on the inside with rabbit fur and laced loosely across the torso, then strapped his sword about his hips as a matter of course.

 

He dealt with his hair next, binding the top layer with a delicately wrought metal clasp, embossed with a symbolic likeness of a gryphon. The Iron Man might be the single most irritating man alive, but Stevyn could never fault his work. He braided the clasped tail, weaving two of Leialak's feathers into it, and tied it off with a leather string.

 

About his shoulders he threw his victorycloak. It was his favourite cloak, made of brightly dyed cloth depicting the crest of his house on a blue background. Two concentric circles of red to represent the blood they had spilled for Renevaar, one for their own and one for the blood of their enemies. Separating them was a circle of white to represent their honesty, and within all three, a circle of blue for the sky they flew, and a white star guiding their purpose and showing their strength. Its collar and shoulders were thick with shining feathers dyed in the same three colours.

 

As he clasped it at his throat, there was a knock at the door.

 

“Chiefson?”

 

“Aye?”

 

“The Chief and Chiefsbound await you.”

 

Stevyn's mouth curled and he took one final look in the shining metal mirror (another creation of the Iron Man) then left the room.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Four candlemarks later, his father and mother, the other older members of the village and the children had taken to their beds, leaving Stevyn and the rest of his ilk to what was left of the feast and a whole lot of drink.

 

The merrymakers sat in the corner playing their instruments and Steve had danced with any number of partners. He was currently pressed in close against Buk, ostensibly dancing a four-step jig, but they were making a hash of it, generally pawing at one another instead.

 

They only broke apart when someone cried;

 

“More ale!”

 

Stevyn laughed, turning the other man about and smacking his behind to get him moving. They muscled their way onto a bench and caroused with the others until Stevyn felt a hand on his shoulder, pushing deep into the dyed feathers of his cloak.

 

He turned to the sight of the Iron Man's insufferable smirk.

 

Raising his brows, he made to turn back to his fellows.

 

“Chiefson,” came the inevitable, near-constant purr. “Is that any way to treat your Iron Man?”

 

No, it wasn't, and well he knew it. A village could hardly function properly without its Iron Man. But he'd had more than a little drink, and drink made him even more brazen than usual.

 

“You hardly treat me as one should treat the Chiefson, so why should I treat you as one should treat the Iron Man?”

 

He laughed, tugging lightly on a handful of tri-coloured feathers.

 

“And I with a victory gift for you and all.”

 

Stevyn paused. He liked gifts, and the Iron Man's gifts were always of a high quality. He licked his lower lip and when the Iron Man tugged again, this time he followed, swinging his leg over the bench and following him a little distance from the others.

 

“You had to bring me over here to give me a gift?”

 

“Nay. But you know how I feel about all that noise.”

 

“When it suits you,” Stevyn said dryly, because given the mood, the Iron Man could drink any of them under the table and keep on.

 

He was dressed for feasting, not work, his broad shoulders draped in the silvery-grey cloak of his station, shoulders adorned with feathers of many shades of grey. He wore a soft woven shirt beneath it, and breeches much the same as Stevyn's own. Yet Stevyn didn't think he'd even been there during the victory songs.

 

Not that he'd been looking.

 

“Aye, when it suits me. And it suits me to have you to myself.”

 

The Iron Man brought up a hand, fingering the edge of Stevyn's cloak. Stevyn bore with it for a few moments, then brought his own hand up, brushing away the other man's with the back of it.

 

The Iron Man just laughed.

 

“Do you hate me so much?” he wondered.

 

It wasn't that. It had never been that. The Iron Man's intensity and his lack of respect and reverence fascinated Stevyn as much as it annoyed him. But he didn't answer, his jaw setting instead.

 

“Oh, Stevyn,” the Iron Man said. “Shall I take your gift, then, and go?”

 

“Nay,” Stevyn was quick to say. The laughter was louder this time.

 

“Just like a child,” he said, shaking his head.

 

“Antony.”

 

“I heard Leialak took injury today.”

 

The sudden change of subject caught Stevyn off guard. He blinked and rolled his shoulders a little.

 

“Aye?” he said uncertainly, then gathering himself; “Not badly. He can hunt, but can take no rider for seven sunsets.”

 

“He was gored, I heard. While his talons were locked with another gryphon.”

 

“...Aye... but not badly,” Stevyn re-iterated.

 

“Mmm...” Antony hummed in thought.

 

Stevyn waited, his irritation beginning to rise yet again. He was fully and completely aware the Iron Man was stringing him along, but he couldn't break out of it, too desirous of the victory gift.

 

“Well?” he snapped eventually, and Antony's grin broadened.

 

“Well... if our gryphs could take armour-”

 

“You know they can't,” Stevyn cut in in exasperation. “They're too slight. They're not bred for strength, and well you know it.”

 

“But, boiled leather-”

 

“Again, we've had this discussion before. Even boiled leather would restrict their movement, and yet give them minimal protection. It's not worth it. Not when they rely so heavily on manoeuvrability.”

 

“There _must_ be some way...” Antony mused.

 

“There _isn't_.”

 

“Stevyn, Stevyn, Stevyn. There is _always_ a way.”

 

Stevyn was silent for a minute, then he said blandly; “I'm going back to the feast.”

 

Antony chuckled and picked up a box from behind a pillar.

 

“Here.”

 

Stevyn took it and opened it perhaps a little too eagerly than was seemly. Within lay a pair of strong but delicate gryph claws, made to be slid onto Leialak's talons to enhance his grip and fighting ability. They were patterned all over with feathers, both embossed and in relief.

 

“Oh,” he said in awe. “Oh, Antony, they're beautiful.”

 

“I know you have wanted a pair,” Antony said.

 

“Aye...” Stevyn said, lifting the claws to the light and watching it glint off them. “But never had I expected so fine a pair.”

 

“My Chiefson, I live only to serve you,” Antony said with dry amusement.

 

“Aye?” Stevyn wondered.

 

“Aye,” Antony replied. His lashes lowered, half-veiling his eyes and his gaze slunk unsubtly down Stevyn's frame. “Always.”

 

Stevyn blinked rapidly, a little shocked. The Iron Man had never showed him any attention. Not that he had ever shown any to the Iron Man, mind you. He hesitated, then hated that he'd hesitated and with forced boldness said;

 

“Do you desire to dance with me?”

 

Antony's smirk twitched into place.

 

“I?” he said, drawling it. “Just now you could hardly bear it when I touched your cloak.”

 

Stevyn scowled.

 

“That wasn't-”

 

“Was it not? I think it was. Yet now you ask me to dance?”

 

Antony stepped closer, into Stevyn's space and his breath stirred the feathers by the Chiefson's neck. He breathed deep and Stevyn found himself tipping his head forward, lips parting. Antony tilted his head up.

 

“You're teasing me,” the Iron Man whispered and withdrew.

 

Stevyn huffed out a breath, almost taking a step forward, but Antony lifted a hand, still smirking.

 

“You have had far too much to drink, Chiefson,” he finished and turned, going back to join the table.

 

Stevyn assessed the feeling in his brain. It was a little fuzzy, he would admit, but he hadn't so much to drink he wasn't able to think. He'd just never thought...

 

But now he was. Quite intently. His eyes slid across Antony's broad, feather-strewn shoulders.

 

The entirety of Renevaar knew Stevyn was free with his affections, or at least with his body, sharing it with anyone who took his fancy and was willing. Very few were not willing. He was Chiefson, a warrior and head of his own clutch, and broad-shouldered and pleasant to look upon besides. He favoured neither man nor woman, but would happily bed either of them, depending on his mood.

 

It was... unusual, to say the least, for someone to turn him down. It irritated him. Not that being irritated by the Iron Man was unusual at _all_. They frequently butted heads, usually arguing over armour or weapons or Antony's penchant for becoming distracted from an assigned project by something he'd suddenly and randomly thought of on his own.

 

And now here he was, casting a heated look like that then turning around and... what? Trying to pretend he hadn't? No one strung Stevyn along. No one.

 

He returned the claws to the box, setting the lid in place, and carried it back to the table where he put it out of the way. When he muscled his way back onto the bench, he did so alongside Antony, making his presence forcibly known.

 

Antony's mouth twitched into a one-sided smirk and he slid his own ale across to Stevyn, then motioned for another from further up the table. When it came to him, he toasted Stevyn silently before throwing his head back and drinking the entire mug in one go.

 

Stevyn snorted and shook his head, but a grin tugged at his mouth anyway.

 

He passed the rest of the evening shoulder-to-shoulder with Antony. He asked him more than once to dance and each time, the Iron Man turned him down.

 

He went home frustrated and alone, despite the fact that any number of people there would have willingly accompanied him.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

The sun was high in the sky, impeding Stevyn's ability to see his clutch as he paced up and down, leather flight vest hanging open and arms folded across his chest. He was still grounded, Leialak perched beside him happily gnawing on a ferret. Of course, he could have taken another gryph up, but it wasn't worth the abysmal mood that would put Leialak into. It would take several sunsets to break him out of it beyond those he was not allowed to take his rider.

 

Stevyn lifted a hand to his brow, squinting.

 

Buk was on point, Thor and Samael on his wingtips, and the rest of the clutch ranged out behind them, flying formations. They were loose, frustrating Stevyn with his inability to tell them so. He could bellow up at them, of course, but they were far to distant to hear him.

 

“Chiefson, you look frustrated.”

 

Stevyn rolled his eyes. The last person he wanted to see at the moment was the Iron Man.

 

“They fly too loose. Should they try to take another clutch in that formation, it would break apart with ease,” he muttered.

 

Antony drew alongside him, a hand above his eyes. He was dressed for work and his arms shone with sweat from his toil. There was a small, dark spot on the apron which even now still smoked, indicating a tiny ember still burned within it. He held something in his other hand, but Stevyn took barely any notice of it.

 

“Aye,” he said. “Too easily by half.”

 

“They wouldn't dare were I up there. They'd be wingtip to wingtip.”

 

“Aye. But as you aren't, I've got something for Leialak to try, if his belly is well enough.”

 

Stevyn dropped his eyes from the sky. It was too frustrating to watch anyhow, and he could do nothing about it.

 

Antony brought what looked like an oversized breast plate up. He had clearly worked at it for quite some time, hammering it to its current thickness – or rather thinness, since it was beaten thinner than Stevyn had ever seen. The Chiefson frowned.

 

“That won't fit...” he started, then trailed off, realising it wasn't for him. “Are you _still_ on that business?”

 

Antony grinned.

 

“Why not? You know the Sirrom ride fully armoured.”

 

“You can't compare our gryphs to the Sirrom wargryphs, Antony,” Stevyn said, exasperated. “They're nearly all condor in the bird half and lion or tiger in the cat half...”

 

“Aye, and what hope have our gryphs against something like that?”

 

Stevyn frowned at him, shaking his head a little.

 

“Every hope. Of being more agile and quicker.”

 

“In lock, Stevyn? Or if caught beneath a stoop? Close quarters?” Antony demanded.

 

“A wargryph is _never_ going to get one of ours in lock, Antony.”

 

“Leialak was in lock _yesterday_.”

 

“Aye, but definitely _not_ with a wargryph, and I initiated the lock.”

 

Antony's gaze snapped to him.

 

“ _You_ did?”

 

“...Aye,” Stevyn admitted. “But it was turned upon me.”

 

Antony smirked and Stevyn rolled his eyes and turned to walk away. He couldn't do anything about his clutch anyway, and the Iron Man was so infuriating.

 

“If even you, the _great_ Chiefson Stevyn, can have his own move turned upon him, then think how much more danger those of less skill are in.”

 

Stevyn curled his lip.

 

“Do not mock me, Iron Man.”

 

“I shouldn't dare, Chiefson.”

 

“Nay, you _shouldn't_ , but you _do_ on many an occasion.”

 

“Well, you _wouldn't_ want to grow too arrogant, now would you?” Antony replied with a smirk, hefting the breastplate in his hands, muscle flexing up his arm. “Come, at least let me see if Leialak likes it.”

 

Stevyn snorted.

 

“Leialak likes anything shiny,” he said dryly. “And I am not arrogant.”

 

“Ah! Then it's worked!”

 

Antony's smile was insufferable, or perhaps incorrigible. Stevyn wasn't sure, but he couldn't fight the answering smile, even if his own was dry.

 

“Very well, try it. But be wary of his belly.”

 

“Naturally,” Antony said.

 

He went over to Leialak, clucking and cooing. Leialak nipped at his hair, ruffling his wing feathers. All the gryphs knew Antony well, since he had a hand in most, if not all, of their tack. Antony ran his fingers through Leialak's meticulously groomed chest feathers.

 

“Good morning, handsome,” he said, his voice and low and lilting. “How's that injury of yours, hmm?”

 

Stevyn rolled his eyes, but Antony ignored him.

 

“Up,” he said.

 

Churring in the back of his throat, Leialak obeyed, resting his claws on Antony's broad shoulders. Antony's hands worked down Leialak's lean ribcage and midriff to the place where the healing wounds were barely visible. The gryph didn't stir, except to rub his beak through Antony's short-cropped dark hair, apparently enjoying the sensation if his happy sounds were anything to go by.

 

“Not bothering him, then,” he stated.

 

“Not in the least.” A pause, then; “Why aren't you trying this thing on Zaleiza?”

 

Antony snorted as he began to buckle the breastplate onto Leialak.

 

“She's not a fighter, Stevyn. She's a racer. She'd never have a reason to wear armour. What a waste of time. Down.”

 

This last was directed at the gryph, who settled back onto all fours, allowing Antony to do up a strap across his shoulder blades.

 

“How is _that_ going to protect his belly?” Stevyn demanded, for indeed, the plate only covered Leialak's ribcage.

 

“This is just the beginning,” Antony replied aloofly. “If he can't retain his movement with this, then there's little point continuing, no matter how light the metal.”

 

“That's the first sensible thing I've heard you say about this whole affair,” Stevyn said dryly.

 

“You have so little faith, my Chiefson. When have I ever let you down?”

 

Stevyn considered while Antony circled Leialak, tightening and examining the breastplate.

 

“Rarely,” the Chiefson finally allowed.

 

“ _Never_ ,” Antony clarified. “I have never let you down, Chiefson. Not when it comes to my duty. _I_ am the best Iron Man within the Dragon's Teeth. Probably further.”

 

It looked good, Stevyn had to admit that. He could imagine it coloured or embossed or any number of decorations. Plus, it seemed Antony had beaten the metal to such thinness it wasn't hampering the gryph much at all.

 

He fussed about it, and hooked a claw under it, pulling at it, but Stevyn hissed at him and he dropped his foot, making unhappy sounds.

 

“Stop that,” Antony said, sticking his fingers under one edge. “You've plenty of room. How much groundwork can he do?” He glanced at Stevyn.

 

“Given that he is allowed to hunt, I see no reason for him to be kept from any of it. Moreover, I can have him take wing alone, it's just that I can't ride. Does it rub his belly?” For it extended down past the lower edge of Leialak's ribcage some way.

 

Antony knelt, running his hand up Leialak's waist area.

 

“No, it doesn't go that low.”

 

“Very well.”

 

Stevyn came over, putting a hand under Leialak's chin and clucking his tongue. For a minute, the gryph just stared stubbornly at him, his eyes flicking once or twice down to the breastplate as much as to say 'get this off first'.

 

Stevyn met his gaze, though, and the gryph soon gave in and stood up, following when Stevyn walked backwards.

 

“Extend,” he said and Leialak spread his wings wide. “Touch,” Steve went on, lifting his right hand. Leialak curved his left wing forwards to touch the first, then they repeated the process with the opposite hand and wing.

 

Antony made a low sound.

 

“He's very obedient.”

 

“Of course,” Stevyn said. He thrust his hand up. “Over!”

 

Leialak screeched and thrashed his wings a bit, but didn't move. Antony snickered, leaning back against the fence, his muscled arms folded across his broad chest.

 

Stevyn's eyes narrowed and he scowled at the gryph who blinked sharply at him, pawing once more at the breastplate.

 

“He does not like it,” the Chiefson said.

 

“Perhaps not so obedient after all,” Antony needled, drumming the fingers of one hand against the bicep of the other arm.

 

“It is your armour that bothers him.”

 

“Please,” Antony scoffed. “I have seen this gryph bear your weight and the weight of another injured man in flight. He is being a princess about it, nothing more.”

 

Stevyn scowled.

 

“He's not-”

 

“Aye, he is, and you're being just as bad. You're supposed to be in charge of him, not the other way around.”

 

“Don't preach to me about gryphon rules, Iron Man. I know them better than you.”

 

Antony, instead of getting angry, just grinned.

 

“Just because I don't fly in a clutch doesn't mean I can't fly. When have you ever matched Leialak with Zaleiza? She could fly three times around the Dragon's Teeth while he still did his first circle.”

 

Stevyn's eyes narrowed to slits.

 

“Is that so?” he challenged.

 

“So,” Antony confirmed, brows bouncing.

 

“Care to lay wager on it? Once Leialak can bear me again, of course.”

 

“Oh, naturally,” Antony said, unfolding his arms for a shrug. “But what shall we wager?”

 

Stevyn considered this.

 

“If I win, you will make me a new sword.” For he wanted one desperately, but hardly needed it. There was nothing wrong with his current sword, it was just a bit weathered and not as attractive as some the Iron Man could make.

 

Antony snorted.

 

“Aye, very well. But if I win?”

 

“Well, what should you want from me?” Stevyn wondered.

 

“What _should_ I, indeed?” the Iron Man murmured, gaze drifting.

 

Stevyn's expression was unimpressed. He almost rolled his eyes.

 

“That sort of thing is not to be bartered with.”

 

“Oh, Chiefson,” Antony said with the air of one speaking to a young child. “Wagering is not bartering. Bartering is trade. We are hardly trading. Besides, you think too highly of yourself if you think I need to wager for your body. I could have it, should I choose.”

 

Stevyn's mouth dropped open, brows arching up nearly to his hairline.

 

“Ex _cuse_ m-”

 

“That pelt,” Antony cut across him.

 

The Chiefson floundered a little, caught off-guard by the sudden interjection.

 

“What?”

 

“That pelt in your greatroom. The polar bear one.”

 

Stevyn spluttered.

 

“That pelt is worth hundreds of gold pieces.”

 

Antony's eyes went half-lidded, his shoulders rolling a little. His all-too-familiar smirk curved his mouth.

 

“Are you so afraid I will best you, Chiefson?”

 

Stevyn bared his teeth.

 

“I am not afraid.”

 

“Then take my wager,” Antony said, stepping right up into Stevyn's space, arms folded. “If you're so sure you are going to win, take my wager.”

 

Stevyn didn't back away. He folded his own arms, forearm brushing Antony's.

 

“Very well. When Leialak is back to peak condition, we will take two circuits around the Dragon's Teeth. The first to return will win the wager.”

 

Antony inclined his head.

 

“As you say, my Chiefson. As you say.”

 

Stevyn met his gaze, eyes narrowed and, as always, set off-kilter by Antony's know-it-all smirk. His lip curled a little on an exhale through his nose and he turned away, stalking back towards Leialak.

 

“Over!” he growled, low and irresistible, thrusting his fisted hand above his head. This time, Leialak leapt over him, wings spread for balance, and landed lightly on his other side. He threw a triumphant grin Antony's way, but to his irritation, the Iron Man was already striding away and did not look back.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

He'd left the breastplate on Stevyn's gryph and, curious despite himself, the Chiefson put Leialak through his paces, both on the ground and in the air. He didn't really seem hampered by the thing, his own disgruntlement notwithstanding. Antony was right – he was being a bit of a princess about it.

 

Stevyn was man enough to honestly share what he'd seen with Antony when he dropped the breastplate off back at the Iron Man's forge. However, he still claimed he didn't believe Antony could make an entire suit light enough to maintain manoeuvrability.

 

Antony might have argued with him about it, were it not for the fact that the alarm bell began ringing.

 

Stevyn took off without even glancing at Antony.

 

It didn't take him long to discover it was the self same enemy they had chased off only two sunsets before.

 

The Aisuans had never troubled them before, keeping to their forests north of the Dragon's Teeth and only travelling there once in a blue moon to trade peacefully. Recently, however, they seemed dissatisfied with their current lands and seemed set on trying to take lands which had belonged to Renevaar as long as anyone could remember.

 

Stevyn's father thought it was because their numbers were getting quite high. Stevyn thought it was more likely because Renevaar was so much more easily defended.

 

The surrounding clans had all been having trouble with the Sirrom, who lived westerly of all of them. They only sent small raiding parties, testing the strength of the easterly clans, and Renevaar's clutches hadn't had a problem sending them on their way. But Stevyn could imagine it would be more difficult for Aisua, which lay in a less defensible position on the edge of a sprawling forest.

 

Whatever the reason, they were back and in further numbers than they had brought before. Moreover, they were advancing rather than making camp, having learned their lesson from the previous attempt.

 

Stevyn wouldn't stay behind. Leialak couldn't carry him.

 

He left the gryphon with three ferrets, deep in the Nest where hopefully he wouldn't hear the clutch taking off. Closing the stall behind him, Stevyn went to track down a gryphon.

 

There were plenty of public-use gryphons, bred and kept for casual trips and uses by the villagers who didn't need them for work or battle or racing. But they were all relatively docile and not nearly as highly-strung or intent as their battlegryphs. The clutches made a habit, however, of raising and training extra battlegryphs for just this reason.

 

Stevyn favoured a male called Kah, who was an eggmate of Leialak.

 

The gryph stuck his head over the stall door and clacked his beak in greeting as Stevyn approached. Stevyn stroked his head and lead him out, saddling him up.

 

A disgruntled screech rang out from deep in the Nest.

 

“Balls,” Stevyn said, but he couldn't do much about it. He lead Kah out of the stall and mounted up, leading his clutch into the sky.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

They landed about an hour later, in the edge of the forest that crawled down the foothills of the Dragon's Teeth. A scout brought back the information that the Aisuan were advancing by wing at a rapid rate and in quite some numbers.

 

Stevyn had brought his own and three other clutches, and wagered it would be enough, because they were the best in Renevaar. When his scouts gave him the number, he knew it would be a little more difficult than he'd anticipated, but he knew they could still pull it off.

 

They waited in the tree-line, as they had waited on the cliff’s edge a few sunsets before. This time they were looking up, waiting for the Aisuan to crest the horizon and fly towards the trees.

 

Akeeta was restless, shifting her weight beneath Buk and clacking her beak, despite how he hissed at her. Just when it seemed she was settled, she snapped at Kah, yanking a hunk of feathers out from just below his jaw.

 

He screeched in indignation, spreading his wings aggressively and mantling at her, whacking Thor across the head and nearly unseating Stevyn.

 

“Kah,” Stevyn growled, hearing much the same from Buk.

 

Kah ignored him, hissing at Akeeta and lowering his head, his neck feathers flaring and puffing up. Buk got Akeeta under control much faster, an easier task on his own gryph.

 

“Kah!” Stevyn said again, rough and low, yanking on his reins and forcibly lifting his head. He refused to drop his wings, though, and Stevyn curled his lip. “I must bring him back from the line,” he muttered.

 

“I'm sorry,” Buk said. “She's used to Leialak.”

 

Stevyn shook his head, waving the apology away. Leialak had established himself at the top of the clutch's pecking order long ago, with Akeeta his obvious beta. She was unimpressed with what she saw as an attempted usurping of his position, probably instinctively feeling she should be on top if he wasn't around. Not that Kah had made any attempt to muscle his way in, but she clearly didn't appreciate his closeness.

 

“Take point,” Stevyn said. “It's much easier just to do it that way. Just make sure you stay tight.” This last he directed at Samael and Thor, who were already closing ranks to fill the gap he'd left.

 

“Naturally,” Thor said.

 

“Naturally nothing,” Stevyn said. “You were both loose in formation earlier today.”

 

They had the grace to look chagrined and didn't argue with him as he backed Kah into the middle of the formation, gryphs and riders shuffling to make room.

 

There were no more scuffles and the clutches waited in silence until the last scout winged back, keeping low to the ground so as to stay hidden from the Aisuan. She reported to Buk, since there was no need for her to push her way through the clutch to get to Stevyn.

 

“A quarter-candlemark at most,” she said, pointing back towards the horizon. “They come from this angle, flying in two levels and also running the ground.”

 

Buk nodded and glanced at Stevyn, but he gestured that Buk could give the orders.

 

“We must break before they come close enough to stoop,” he began. “We will fly up and take _them_ at stoop instead. Their gryphs won't be as fresh as ours. If we climb quickly we will outfly them. We take the topmost rank first and thence break through.”

 

Stevyn nodded but glanced to one of the other clutch leaders, a strong-willed woman he'd grown up with called Marian.

 

“Marian, stoop your clutch through and beyond both flying ranks. Take those on the ground before they can join the rest.”

 

Buk nodded now.

 

“Aye, a sound plan,” he said.

 

She grinned.

 

“My pleasure,” she said and turned to relay the information to her clutch.

 

They hadn't long to wait after that. Soon, the Aisuan appeared on the horizon, wings beating in a slow, regular pattern meant to bring them the distance between Aisua and Renevaar.

 

The gryphs could feel their riders' anticipation and they began to move and stretch upwards, ready to launch into the air at a moment's notice. Buk watched the oncoming riders closely, intently, hands shifting against his reins.

 

His timing was perfect, Stevyn thought proudly as he whistled to Akeeta and she bounded into the air, the rest of the Renevaaran leaping after her.

 

The rider at the head of the Aisuan formations immediately drew back on his reins, angling his gryphon upwards and thus drawing the whole formation that way, but Buk kept their climb steep and it wasn't long before they were above the height of the oncoming gryphs.

 

He whooped as he tugged on Akeeta's reins, guiding her level then into stoop almost in the same action. The rest of them followed like the cresting of a wave.

 

They careened into the front runners of the topmost Aisuan formation, knocking several riders adrift from their gryphs just with the inertia of their stoop. These rode strapped in, which proved costly, because they dragged their gryphs with them, causing collisions in the air.

 

Marian hovered her clutch for a long moment then dove down as well, weaving them through the flying gryphs to fall on the groundrunning rank.

 

Stevyn grinned fiercely then dove into the fray himself, sending Kah looping down towards a smaller gryph. His feathers shivered in excitement and he screeched as they connected, talons closing on the rider's shoulders.

 

“Good boy!” Stevyn cried and tugged the reins, guiding him upwards and dragging the other rider and gryph with them. The Chiefson took out his sword and bent down, driving the blade home.

 

Kah let go and pushed off the other gryphon, spiralling into the air again. It wasn't the same as having Leialak beneath him, but Kah was agile and strong and they took down their share of Aisuan.

 

As Stevyn had thought, it was a difficult battle, but they flew home triumphant, if exhausted. He didn't stay long at the victory feast, too bone-weary to dance or drink for long. It was harder work to ride a gryph that wasn't your own, but he hadn't realised how much time he'd spent muscling Kah around until the aches began to make themselves known.

 

So while everyone else was still dancing and feasting, he took himself up to the hotsprings. He hung his victorycloak on a tree branch and neatly folded the rest of his clothes, stacking them beneath the branch and laying his sword atop them. He stepped into the hot water and slid down to his neck.

 

He might have dozed off, but he wasn't sure. He stirred, opening his eyes when the water was quietly displaced.

 

“Chiefson,” came Antony's unmistakable voice.

 

“Iron Man,” Stevyn replied, tipping his head back once more and closing his eyes. He found he didn't mind the company. Antony was a solid presence across the water from him, but he was silent for the moment, once he had let out a long sighing groan of pleasure.

 

Eventually, it was Stevyn himself who broke the silence.

 

“It must be a relief to be in the water after sunup until sunset in your forge.”

 

Antony's chuckle was low and honeyed and, though Stevyn wasn't looking at him, he got the impression he was nodding.

 

“Aye,” he said, voice almost a rumble. “Today was worse than usual since my apprentices are useless and can't even stack metal ingots properly without help. That stuff is heavy, and hauling it up the mountainside isn't actually part of my job description.”

 

Stevyn chuckled.

 

“You should have just supervised instead of putting your back into it.”

 

“Except I can carry ten to fifteen and they can carry... one to two?”

 

Stevyn snorted, shaking his head as he opened his eyes again to look at Antony.

 

“I'm sure you must be exaggerating.”

 

Antony shook his head in his turn.

 

“I wish I was. I _wish_ I was. If I hadn't helped them, they'd only be half way through even now.”

 

Stevyn considered him for a moment.

 

“Stop choosing such weak-of-body apprentices.”

 

Antony snorted.

 

“Now, that's why you're nothing but the Chiefson-” Stevyn snorted- “and I am the Iron Man. The strength can be built in their bodies, but they were born with already strong minds.”

 

“Can't you build the strength into their minds?” Stevyn asked curiously.

 

Antony made a low, thoughtful noise.

 

“Aye...” he said slowly. “But not so easily without a solid foundation. It would be like trying to build a dwelling on a muddy slope. Hardly any of it stays put.”

 

Stevyn nodded thoughtfully. They lapsed into silence again and Stevyn knew this time he was drifting off into a doze when Antony spoke again.

 

“Why have you left the feast?”

 

Stevyn sighed.

 

“It was a difficult battle. Kah is a good flier and a good gryph, but he is hardly Leialak and it took more effort and muscling to get him to do as I wished.”

 

He expected a snide comment in reply to this, but instead, Antony just nodded.

 

“It is hard to fly on a different gryph,” he agreed.

 

The water shifted and before Stevyn even had his eyes open, Antony was a heated, muscled line along his side.

 

“I could help you relax,” he offered.

 

Stevyn peered at him with narrowed eyes.

 

“You declined when I asked you to dance.”

 

“I do not speak of dancing. Sit forward.”

 

Stevyn was a little suspicious, but he did so. Antony slid in behind him and brought his hands up to begin massaging his shoulders. Stevyn almost immediately relaxed into the other man, sighing.

 

“I struggle to puzzle you out, Iron Man,” he said.

 

“Aye, I know,” Antony said with a clear smirk in his voice. “I enjoy the fact.”

 

Stevyn snorted a little.

 

“You frustrate me.”

 

“I know that, too. But if you didn't insist on being so stubborn all the time, I wouldn't have to.”

 

“Of the two of us, I am not the stubborn one,” Stevyn said dryly.

 

“Please. Stubbornness is bred into your family. But I actually think it a good quality for a Chief to have. Just not when he or she deals with the village Iron Man.”

 

Stevyn snorted.

 

“If you managed to control yourself and keep from these fool ideas of your own devising...” he muttered.

 

“This armour is not a fool idea. I've made some more pieces.”

 

“It _is_ a fool idea,” Stevyn replied sleepily, but he didn't want to get into a fight and have Antony stop his ministrations. “But I will let you keep trying the pieces on Leialak. It should look fantastic on him, regardless of its use.”

 

Antony snorted.

 

“It will have use,” he said with determination and that intensity Stevyn had always been drawn to. “The pieces are very light. I've been tempering the metal in such a way as to harden it further than its natural property.”

 

“You can do that?” Stevyn asked curiously.

 

“It's working so far.”

 

“Very impressive,” Stevyn said after a while.

 

“My metal tempering or my hands?” Antony wondered and Stevyn could hear the smirk in his voice.

 

Stevyn's mouth twitched and he rolled his shoulders a little, letting the question hang in the steam between them. He let one hand float on the surface of the water, watching it.

 

“Both,” he said eventually.

 

“Oh?” Antony asked, dragging the sound out. One of his hands curved forwards over Stevyn's shoulder, sliding down over his pectoral.

 

Stevyn took a deep breath.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Antony chuckled.

 

“If you don't know that, Chiefson, your bragging is wildly exaggerated.”

 

Stevyn rolled his eyes, his hand coming up to meet Antony's and stop its progress.

 

“I mean you have never demonstrated such interest towards me.”

 

“What makes you think I am demonstrating interest? Perhaps I'm just lonely tonight.”

 

“Either of us could keep company with anyone we should choose.”

 

“And is there something wrong with my choosing you?”

 

Stevyn considered this. Instead of answering, he let go of Antony's hand and let it continue downwards. He tipped his head forwards when he felt Antony's mouth open warm against the back of his neck, his free hand brushing Stevyn's ponytail aside.

 

Stevyn felt himself relaxing further with each kiss and stroke. He leaned back a little more into Antony's support and the Iron Man wound an arm around him to keep him from tipping over.

 

Stevyn opened his mouth to say something, but he would never remember what later, because the warning bells clanged across the town.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Stevyn had never heard Buk scream before. He thought he would never forget the sound of it, nor the way he'd seen the whole thing play out but couldn't get to him in time.

 

There was no screaming now. Buk had drifted into a twitchy state of unconsciousness across Kah's shoulders, his own hastily bandaged shoulder – what was left of it – slicking the variegated feathers with dark blood at an alarming rate.

 

Stevyn had seen a lot of injuries in his time, but not one like this. At least, not one like this which a warrior had lived through. That Buk was still breathing was testament to his sheer stubborn will, Stevyn thought.

 

It seemed to take an age to get back to the Dragon's Teeth, with Buk growing steadily paler and Kah's feathers growing steadily darker and stickier. Stevyn's heart pounded in his chest and he wasn't in the least bit afraid to admit to himself that he was terrified for his friend.

 

Renevaar was always a sight for sore eyes, but today he was even more relieved when it came into sight. He'd sent a scout ahead of him to prepare the physik and Thor and Samael flew guard either side of him, Akeeta hitched to Samael's saddle.

 

Stevyn circled down to land, but no matter how gently he tried to take Kah down, the landing still jarred Buk awake. He began a low sort of moaning, keening sound, struggling in the lashes that held him to the gryphon. Stevyn hastened to undo him and they eased him as best they could onto the pallet the physik had brought.

 

His feet kicked and scrabbled, body tense and bowing up off the taut deerskin as some warriors lifted it from the ground by the two straight branches that held it suspended. He panted through his teeth, eyes wild.  
  
“Chiefson,” he bit out as Stevyn and some others hurried after the physik up the mountainside. “You... y-you... kill ev-every last... one've 'em.”

 

“Hush,” Stevyn said tightly. “We were victorious. Save your breath.”

 

“Don' let'm... let'm here though... t'... t' R'n'vaar...” Buk went on, the name of the village degenerating into a drawn-out sound that would have probably been another scream if not for how tightly he'd clamped his teeth.

 

“Set him down,” the physik said, indicating the polished wood table he used for treating such grievous wounds.

 

“Brues,” someone said uncertainly. “Will he live?”

 

Buk was whimpering now, tight, gut-deep sounds of pain as he writhed slowly on the hard surface, his remaining hand groping towards the stump of the other arm until Stevyn took it and gently but firmly pressed it back down.

 

Buk's eyes flew suddenly open and he went still, trembling all over.

 

“Stevyn,” he whispered, eyes rolling up towards him. “Stevyn... what happened? I can't feel my arm. I can't feel... Why can't I feel my arm? Stevyn! _Why can't I feel my arm_?” His voice rose to the pitch of a howl by the end, and he began to thrash in earnest, more blood leaking sluggishly through the hasty bandages, now so soaked they were doing little to nothing.

 

“Hold him still,” Brues said, his voice low but commanding.

 

No one moved, weirdly enraptured by Buk's pained howling.

 

“Hold him, I said!” Brues snarled this time, and Thor, Stevyn, Samael and Marian leapt to obey, strong hands pinning Buk to the table. He fought them hard, delirium taking hold of any sense he had remaining to him and shredding it to the bone. He was screaming for real now, legs jerking beneath their hold and body jack-knifing under their hands.

 

“Brues-” Marian started.

 

“Be silent,” he ordered, hurrying over with a cloth in his hand. He pinned it over Buk's nose and mouth, damping the howling somewhat. A few breaths later and the sounds had died in the man's throat, leaving only harsh, muffled and ragged breathing in their wake. Soon even that had smoothed out, along with Buk's brow as whatever soaked the cloth worked into his body and soothed the terror and pain, or at least blocked it out.

 

Brues cut free the hasty field bandages with a knife, blade sharpened to a keen edge by Antony's careful hand. Samael swore hotly under his breath and Thor uttered a stammered prayer.

 

To say it wasn't pretty was an understatement. Gryphon claws and beaks were sharp but they weren't keen like the knife in Brues' hand. Stevyn had watched Buk hang in the enemy gryph's grip, screaming, and tried to get to him, but only been in time to arrest his fall when the vicious beak had finally torn his limb from his body. It had been one of the most brutal things Stevyn had ever seen and it was hardly as if this had been his first battle.

 

There was little left of Buk's arm. Blood still oozed and, in some cases, flowed freely from the gaping, ragged wound.

 

“Out,” Brues said darkly. “All of you, out.”

 

None of them moved.

 

“ _Out_ ,” Brues snarled and they all jumped and slunk out of the room, Brues barking orders at his apprentices as they left.

 

The next few hours were gruelling on Buk, Brues and the apprentices. Brues had to cut away all the ragged skin, already creeping with flesh disease. He cauterised what he could, stitched what he could, and used the best blood and flesh disease remedies he knew, herbal as well as mineral.

 

Then all he could do was bandage it again, with fresher, cleaner cloth, and leave well enough alone.

 

The whole thing took nearly the entire night. He passed out in a chair against the wall, his apprentices already slumped around the walls and floor with exhaustion, and wouldn't stir for some hours.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

There was no victory feast.

 

Not only had Buk lost his arm, but four warriors had been killed, six more injured badly – though not so badly as Buk himself.

 

Stevyn and his men were restless, waiting on news of Buk that didn't come for hours. They paced and fretted in the great hall, snapping at one another and breaking into arguments at the slightest provocation, until finally an exhausted apprentice stumbled in, briefly informed them Buk would survive, then passed out in Stevyn's arms.

 

The Chiefson lay the boy down on a bench then snarled and growled at his warriors until they reluctantly took themselves to bed, and he did the same.

 

He slept badly and would have believed he hadn't slept at all if it weren't for the fact that when he closed his eyes finally it was dark and when he opened them again the sun was fingering its way into his room, groping across his furs and trying to get into his eyes. It needn't have bothered, because there was an insistent pounding on his door that served to wake him up anyway.

 

He scowled. Whoever that was, he was going to _eviscerate_ them for waking him, when it had taken him so long to fall asleep in the first place.

 

He wrapped a fur around his naked hips and stalked over to the door, further irritated by the grit and blood that flecked his skin and the stink of battle that still hung like a cloud around him. He hadn't even thought to take a bath the previous evening and now he would need to have all his furs washed as well.

 

He threw open the door, all flexing muscle and tired anger.

 

“What?” he demanded.

 

Of course it was the Iron Man. Who else would _dare_? He didn't even pause at the sight Stevyn made, furious and haloed by the sunlight seeping through the window.

 

“Is it true?” he said, his voice just as demanding as Stevyn's had been and _how dare he_ think he could take that tone when he'd woken the Chiefson so uncerimoniously.

 

“What?” Stevyn said again, short and tight.

 

“Is it _true_?” Antony asked again, slow and deliberate like he was speaking to an infant.

 

“Is _what_ true? You show up at the crack of dawn vaguely deman-”

 

“Did Buk lose his arm?”

 

Stevyn blinked. One hand still held the fur around his hips while the other snatched at Antony's shirt, hauling him up on his toes.

 

“Did you just cut me off?”

 

Antony's eyes narrowed.

 

“There are more important things, Stevyn. Buk-”

 

“I have had enough of your-”

 

Antony drew in like a coiled spring, then thrust out again, foot driving into Stevyn's shin. Stevyn's leg buckled a little and he dropped Antony who danced back a little, curling his lip.

 

“I cannot believe you're choosing to deal with me this way right now,” he said. “You-”

 

Stevyn's hands lashed out again and he dragged Antony into the room, kicking the door shut behind him and driving him back against it, forearm across his shoulders.

 

“I cannot believe you choose to deal with _me_ in this manner at _all_ ,” he growled back.

 

Antony met his gaze defiantly, jaw clenched, and Stevyn had to admit to himself he was impressed by Antony's willingness to stand up to him, even if it frustrated the hell out of him. The intensity of his brown gaze, as always, simmered in Stevyn's belly and, before he really thought it through, he was leaning forwards to kiss Antony.

 

Antony jerked against the door, a surprised sound escaping him. He couldn't get any leverage against Stevyn's arm but he pushed one hand up behind it to try and move it, muscle flexing in his own arm.

 

Held up now by only the press of their bodies together, Stevyn's fur was inching precariously low as Antony fought against him. When Stevyn drew back, they were both panting.

 

“I have more important things to be doing than-”

 

Stevyn swallowed Antony's words and the Iron Man fisted his free hand in the back of his pale hair, dragging his head away.

 

“By the gods. Think with something other than your desire, Chiefson! Answer my question. Did Buk lose his arm?”

 

“Yes,” Stevyn growled and moved to kiss him again, but Antony tightened his grip and pulled again, and the Chiefson heard strands of his hair ripping out. “You _stop_ that immediately.”

 

“As you can't seem to control yourself, I shall have to continue,” Antony sneered, lip curling. “Tell me about the injury.”

 

Stevyn made a sound of frustration and pushed away from Antony. Once there was a little distance between them, the Iron Man let go of his hair and he rubbed at the back of his head.

 

“It was a gryph,” he said.

 

“I gathered,” Antony replied dryly. “With beak or talons?”

 

“Some combination of both, from what I saw,” Stevyn replied, hitching the fur back up around his hips. “I have no great desire to discuss this,” he added uncomfortably.

 

Antony's voice had softened a little when he said; “I understand, but I need to know.”

 

Stevyn sighed, stalking away to sit heavily on his bed. Hands hanging between his knees, he began to explain what had happened, trying to keep his voice as calm and removed as possible.

 

Antony sat in a chair to listen, his fingers laced together before his mouth, elbows resting on his knees. He nodded and asked questions every so often, but was otherwise silent until Stevyn was done and he asked;

 

“Will he still be able to fly?”

 

“Of course. He's a warrior. A lost arm is hardly going to keep him off his gryph.” Stevyn paused. “I see him struggling to fight on gryphback, though...” he admitted. “I'll grant some time is spent holding on with one's legs, but... more often than not, one hand is holding on while the other wields the weapon. One less arm is going to make that difficult.”

 

Antony nodded and quite suddenly stood.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He took a step towards the door, but Stevyn pushed up from the bed, immediately grabbing hold of Antony's wrist.

 

“Antony,” he said.

 

Antony glanced back at him, his gaze as intense as ever, but very far away. Stevyn drew him closer.

 

“What are you planning?”

 

Antony's smirk was electric.

 

“Oh, Chiefson. That's a surprise,” he purred.

 

He wormed out of Stevyn's grip, leaned up to press a belligerent kiss to the corner of his mouth, then slid out the door.

 

Stevyn's hands fisted and relaxed at his sides and he growled, stalking back to the bed and throwing himself onto it like a child on the precipice of a tantrum. But it wasn't a tantrum that zinged under his skin. He knew it wasn't just him feeling it and he had no idea how Antony was ignoring it. Then again, he'd never been able to figure out Antony.

 

He huffed, pushed the fur angrily aside and rolled himself up in the bigger ones, closing his eyes again and trying to get back to sleep.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“ _No_!” Stevyn heard a few sunsets later as he approached the physik's, stride long and purposeful to hide how nervous he in fact felt. “I said no!” Stevyn poked his head around the door to see what was going on.

 

Even sitting in bed with one arm, bloodied and dirty from the battle, Buk was an impressive enough presence to have the poor young apprentice who was trying to change his bandages cowed against the wall. Stevyn was unconsciously relieved to see his friend didn't seem to be in any way diminished. He did seem to be quite petulant, however, as he scowled at the apprentice with narrowed eyes.

 

“Buk?” Stevyn said, the rest of his body easing into the room.

 

“Chiefson!” Buk said like he was lost in the desert and Stevyn was a waterskin. “Thank the gods you're here. Tell this gryph's nut that I don't need to have my bandages changed!”

 

“You do need to,” the apprentice said, clearly trying and failing to sound commanding. “Brues said-”

 

“It's fine! I feel fine! You can all just let me out of here too!”

 

“I don't think _that's_ wise,” Stevyn said in alarm. He'd seen the wound. He knew it would need a lot of healing. In fact he could hardly believe Buk was sitting up, and seemed alert as well.

 

“What's wise would be taking the medicinal potions I've made. Then he wouldn't even know the apprentice was trying to change his bandage,” Brues' calm tone cut in as he entered behind Stevyn. “Because he'd be resting and unconscious _like he should be_ to help his shoulder heal.”

 

Buk made an angry, feral sound.

 

“I'm not going to-”

 

“Then don't complain when it hurts,” Brues said mercilessly. “This isn't something we should be doing with you awake right now, but you won't take the potions.” He glanced at Stevyn, who was feeling a little shell-shocked if the truth be known. “He says he can't afford to let his guard down now he only has one arm to guard with. Not that I can figure out what he needs to guard against in the middle of Renevaar, deep in the physik's building.”

 

Buk muttered something under his breath, hand fisting in the furs.

 

“Sorry?” Brues said, arching a brow.

 

“Nothing,” Buk said petulantly. “Can I go home?”

 

“You most certainly cannot.”

 

Buk huffed, shifting his weight.

 

“I am a warrior, not a snivelling child,” he growled.

 

“No one's saying that, Buk,” Stevyn cut in before Brues could speak. “But it's more than just a goring, even you have to admit that.”

 

Buk set his jaw and said nothing, as though the silence proved he actually _didn't_ have to admit that, thank you very much.

 

Brues sighed expressively.

 

“You can't go home and you can't keep those bandages on, unless you want to develop a blood sickness. So either take the potions or stop glaring at my apprentice.”

 

Buk still said nothing, but he did his best to stop glaring. Brues motioned the apprentice over, but instead of trying to undo the bandages, the physik had her hold Buk's shoulders still and he began undoing the bandages himself. It wasn't long before it became clear it would take more than the young girl to hold him still and Stevyn stepped in to help.

 

“You should just take the cursed potions,” he growled as Buk fought against his grip while Brues painstakingly peeled the last layers of bloodied bandages away from the cauterised and stitched wound. “You can't be further injured in here.”

 

“I'm amazed he's even this lucid,” Brues admitted as he finally removed the last layer and began carefully cleaning the wound while Buk gritted his teeth and swore through them. “I've rarely seen anyone _survive_ a wound like this, let alone be arguing with the physik a few sunsets later.”

 

“Aye, well. I am hardly anyone,” Buk said darkly, then; “And you can stop calling it 'a wound'. That understates it. It's a _maiming_.”

 

The others were silent, unsure how to respond to this. The silence dragged on way past uncomfortable and Brues carefully rinsed the wound out with a medicinal potion.

 

When he was done replacing the bandages with new ones, he took Stevyn aside. Buk glared at them, probably knowing full well what he was going to tell the other man.

 

“Chiefson,” he began. “He should not be sitting up and he should not be awake. His body needs all its energies to heal him.”

 

“I cannot force him to be asleep.”

 

“You can force him to drink the potions.”

 

“I don't think-”

 

“I do. You are his clutch master and the Chiefson. He will do as you say.”

 

Stevyn shifted his weight uncomfortably. He understood Buk's feelings. He understood why the man felt he couldn't relax. An attack like that left a man feeling vulnerable at the best of times, let alone having ended so badly as this.

 

“I can try.”

 

“You must do better than try, Chiefson. You must convince him, or I feel it is almost certain he'll develop a sickness.”

 

“A sickness?” Stevyn asked.

 

“Aye. I will not say so to Buk, for I do not want him wasting energy on worrying, but even though he seems to be beginning to recover, I am worried he may develop a blood disease or disease of the flesh long before the injury can knit. I said I had rarely seen anyone survive an injury like this, but in truth I have seen _no one_ survive. All have died almost immediately after such an injury, so I have no way of knowing if he will be able to live through this or not.”

 

Stevyn dragged his hand through his hair, desperate to prevent this possibility.

 

“I understand. I will do my best.”

 

Brues nodded and left him to it.

 

He let out a long breath as he turned back to Buk.

 

“I know what he told you,” Buk said, glaring at him.

 

“If you know what he told me, then why are you choosing to be so stubborn about it? You're lucky to be alive. What is the point if you get sick?”

 

Buk grumbled wordlessly to himself for a long moment, then; “I feel useless enough as it is, without laying here unconscious while everyone _waits_ on me.”

 

Mercilessly, Stevyn replied, “You should be even more useless dead.”

 

Buk's hand fisted in the furs and he looked away, his jaw set. Stevyn couldn't tell if he was furious or bone-shatteringly upset. He thought perhaps it was a combination.

 

“I'll never fly again. I may as well be,” he said grimly.

 

“You can hold on with one hand,” Stevyn replied. “We all can.”

 

“I'll never fly _in combat_ again,” Buk clarified and Stevyn couldn't refute that. He couldn't see a way either.

 

“If we lash you to-”

 

“Nay,” Buk said tightly. “I'll not risk killing Akeeta like that.”

 

Stevyn nodded his understanding. He was silent for a long moment, then; “I shan't risk losing you, though. You will take the potions.”

 

“Stevyn-”

 

“I am not arguing with you about this. Take the potions.”

 

Buk's look was one of sheer betrayal, but he picked up one of the bottles and drank it, then the next, and the last. Then he lay down, rolling onto his side and turning his back on Stevyn.

 

“Buk-”

 

“Goodbye Chiefson.”

 

Stevyn hesitated, then left, hands fisted. Brues approached him, but he only gave a short nod and walked on, indicating he had no wish for further conversation.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Buk had been sleeping for six sunsets when Antony came to see Stevyn.

 

He was grooming Leialak, who was happily munching a ferret. They'd just come down from his third flight since his injury, and he was moving perfectly well. Stevyn had checked his belly, and found the wound still perfectly knitted together.

 

“Stevyn,” Antony said and he looked up from where he was working on Leialak's feathers. “Can I borrow Leialak's saddle?”

 

Stevyn frowned. Antony had some weird... thing in his hands made of layered metal with some kind of claw-like contraption at the end of it.

 

“My saddle? You've got plenty of-”

 

“I know, I know. But they're all in storage and this was faster.”

 

He rubbed his forearm across his damp brow. He was wearing his leathers and his skin gleamed with exertion, his boots heavy on the floor as he crossed the stall to where Leialak's tack hung, meticulously cared for. He took down his saddle and brought it back over, shoving it at Stevyn.

 

“Put it on him,” he demanded.

 

“What? I just took it off. He shall think we're going out again.”

 

“Nonsense. You underestimate his intelligence. He has mind enough to know you're hardly going to turn around and take him out again not half a candlemark after you came back. Hurry up.”

 

Stevyn rolled his eyes but did as he was bade, mostly out of sheer curiosity. Once the saddle was fixed in place, Antony thrust the contraption into Stevyn's arms and swung up onto Leialak's back, then reached down to take it again.

 

He put his hand just inside it, grunting a little as he pressed into it, and the claw-thing snapped shut on the edge of the saddle. He tugged at it with his free hand, tongue curled against his upper lip and a grin crept across his mouth when it wouldn't come free. Then he relaxed back rather than pushing on it, waited for a few moments and scowled when nothing happened.

 

“By the gods' asshole,” he muttered and pried the claw open to release it from the saddle.

 

Before Stevyn could even ask what he was doing, he had slithered off the saddle and was striding away.

 

Stevyn caught his arm.

 

“Wait,” he said. “I-”

 

“Not now, my dear Chiefson,” he said and patted Stevyn's cheek, leaning up to chastely kiss his mouth.

 

Stevyn sucked in a surprised breath, assailed by his sight and sound and taste, but by the time he'd gathered himself, the Iron Man was gone.

 

Stevyn growled to himself then moved to take off Leialak's saddle.  
  
“I want him,” he decided lowly, hands tightening on it. Of course he'd been aware of that for a time now, but saying aloud made it a promise; _I'm going to have him._

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Ten sunsets later and Brues wasn't even letting Buk regain consciousness. Once he'd allowed him to waken and again they'd had to fight him to get him to drink the potions that would send him off again. Now he was pouring them down the warrior's throat when he showed the slightest sign of stirring.

 

Stevyn knew Buk would hate it, but he also knew it was working. It had only been seventeen sunsets since the injury, but it was already looking better than it had. Brues and his apprentices were cleaning it daily, diligently changing the bandages and examining it and could yet find no sign of any blood or flesh disease.

 

Once again, Steve was with Leialak when Antony strode in, the weird contraption in his arms.

 

“Saddle,” he said without pre-amble.

 

“No. I am not taking him out today and he'll think I am.”

 

Antony shrugged.

 

“I want to fly him anyway,” he replied, waving the thing at Stevyn. “I need to test this out.”

 

“What _is_ it?” Stevyn asked.

 

Antony didn't reply, instead putting it down and going over to get Leialak's saddle, regardless of Stevyn's opinion on the matter.

 

Irritation flared.

 

“Antony!” he snapped.

 

The Iron Man looked over his shoulder, supremely unimpressed with his commanding tone of voice. He arched a brow.

 

“Chiefson?” he asked laconically, reaching up deliberately for the saddle.

 

“Leave it,” Stevyn demanded.

 

Antony just laughed and turned away, taking down the saddle.

 

Stevyn was there in a heartbeat, hands closing over Antony's wrists and keeping them half-way up the wall, the saddle still clutched in his fingers. He pressed his taller frame against the Iron Man's back.

 

“I said; leave it.”

 

“I do not have time for your dramatics, Chiefson,” Antony growled warningly.

 

“Why? What are you working so diligently on? This armour of yours?” Stevyn said, his tone a little derisive.

 

“Mind your tone, Stevyn,” Antony muttered.

 

“Ha. That's fine coming from _you_.”

 

Antony pushed against the wall, trying to dislodge Stevyn.

 

“Get off me.”

 

Instead, Stevyn eased more tightly against him, dropping one hand from his wrist to press against his belly, working them closer together.

 

“Are you certain you want to try this, Chiefson?” Antony wondered lowly, pushing back against Stevyn again.

 

“Most certain,” Stevyn replied, bringing his hand around to undo the bow at the back of Antony's apron, then lifting the loop over his head and letting it fall to the floor.

 

Antony reached up, hooking the saddle back where it had come from as Stevyn's hand slid down, cupping the front of his breeches and rubbing a little and he hissed.

 

“Do you not have more important things to be doing?” he sighed, rolling his eyes.

 

“No,” Stevyn said simply. “I want you.”

 

“Oh?” Antony said, his own hand sliding over the back of Stevyn's. “Does it hurt you to admit that?”

 

“Not at all. Why should it?”

 

“You dislike me intensely, do you not?” Antony said smartly, his fingertips working between Stevyn's and easing both their hands against his breeches.

 

Stevyn hummed, shifting his hips against Antony's behind. “Not so much,” he said. “I just hadn't noticed before.”

 

Antony huffed.

 

“I am very busy,” he muttered, trying to turn around in Stevyn's arms, but Stevyn held him, still rubbing the front of his breeches.

 

“It is probably time you took a break then...” he purred.

 

Antony drew in a slow breath, fingers still curling against and around Stevyn's, holding his hand where it was rather than trying to pull it away.

 

“Perhaps,” he murmured. “But I am unsure whether you will feel the same after I lay you down.”

 

Stevyn scoffed.

 

“No one lays me down.”

 

“I will lay you down.”

 

Stevyn laughed lowly in the back of his throat and mouthed at the back of Antony's neck. He was confident in his own strength and had no doubts in his ability to best the Iron Man.

 

“You said you were busy,” Stevyn reminded him, his free hand pushing up beneath Antony's shirt, fingers skimming across his abs. “Can you spare the time to fight me?”

 

“I am certainly not going to lay down without a fight,” Antony replied aloofly, again trying to turn around. This time, Stevyn let him, pinning one of his hands above his head, rattling the tack, and undoing his shirt laces with deft fingers.

 

He immediately dipped his head and nosed inside the open v of the shirt, dragging his lower lip across a nipple before he licked slowly at it.

 

Antony made a low sound and arched, tugging a little against Stevyn's grip. His other hand slid into Stevyn's gold hair, fingers flexing there.

 

“I thought _you_ disliked _me_ intensely,” Stevyn said, smirking against his skin.

 

“Not so much,” Antony retorted teasingly, grinning from ear to ear. “Why isn't your mouth at work?”

 

“Because yours is so smart,” Stevyn growled and bit down against Antony's chest. Antony's half-laugh turned to a moan, his back arching.

 

“Chiefson. We are in a stable,” he pointed out, and Leialak chirruped nearby as though to punctuate the comment.

 

“Aye,” Stevyn agreed, one hand sliding down Antony's abs and from there, into his breeches.

 

“Are you not concerned someone might catch us?”

 

“Catch us?” Stevyn echoed, his fingers inching deeper into Antony's breeches. “You speak as though we're doing something forbidden. Something we shouldn't. Do you care if people know we're sharing furs?”

 

“We're sharing furs now?” Antony teased, hips twitching at the touch of Stevyn's fingers. “That is a little of an exaggeration, don't you think?”

 

“It was a far less crass way to put it than 'rutting in the stable',” Stevyn replied, capturing Antony's mouth hungrily.

 

Antony chuckled through his nose as he returned the kiss. He relaxed into it for a long moment, then suddenly flexed and grabbed at Stevyn's shoulders, turning him about and pressing him back against the wall.

 

“If you think that's rutting, someone needs to teach you better. _This_ is rutting.”

 

Antony pinned Stevyn's wrists by his waist and began to roll his hips slow and deep against the Chiefson's. Stevyn tipped his head back, groaning, his own hips twitching to meet Antony's.

 

Antony undid Stevyn's shirt, pushing it open like his own then the rest of the way off. His hips were still moving as he dipped his head, mouthing at Stevyn's shoulder.

 

Stevyn arched, tugging against the Iron Man's grip and Antony laughed against his skin, pulling him away from the wall and baring him down into the straw instead. That only made Stevyn arch harder, more of a buck as he tried to unseat Antony from where he was straddling his hips, still at that rolling movement of his hips.

 

“I warned you,” Antony purred.

 

“We are hardly done yet,” Stevyn growled back.

 

Antony just chuckled deep in his throat and bent to drag his tongue across a nipple. He did it again and again until Stevyn's struggles turned into arches of pleasure, and a low moan eased from his throat.

 

“Hmm...” Antony purred. “Has the fight gone from you already?”

 

That seemed to shake Stevyn out of it and he bared his teeth, once more trying to roll Antony over. But Antony held the ascendancy, merely clamping his knees against Stevyn's waist and hips and pressing down against the top of his thighs.

 

Then he kissed him again, hard and rough and hungry, his tongue demanding dominance of the kiss.

 

Stevyn managed to work a hand free and he brought it to the back of Antony's head, fingers curling into his hair and trying to pull him back. Amusement just bubbled up from Antony's throat again.

 

He lifted his weight a little and Stevyn surged up, their mouths still locked together. Now his other hand came to Antony's shoulder and he made to flip him onto his back, but to his utter shock, the Iron Man outfoxed him and before he knew it, he was on his _belly_ beneath Antony. He wasn't even sure how it had happened, when no warrior he had ever sparred with had managed to get him into such a vulnerable position.

 

Antony pressed Stevyn's forearm across the small of his back and leaned over him, mouth hot by his ear as he murmured;

 

“What you forget, my dear Chiefson, or perhaps have never known is that I know more than most. I think more than most...”

 

Stevyn kicked, bucking beneath Antony's weight, but he rode it out easily.

 

“Do you insinuate I am stupid?” he growled.

 

“Oh, no,” Antony replied silkily, his free hand beginning to ease Stevyn's breeches down his hips. “No, Stevyn, I should never. But I _am_ insinuating most, if not all, the warriors you face are not _quite_ so clever as me.”

 

He drew the waistband of Stevyn's breeches down just below the curves of his ass, trapping his legs somewhat. Still keeping a muscled hold of the Chiefson's arm, he slid down his body, draped over his legs, and pressed his tongue into the tightly-drawn seam of Stevyn's ass. There wasn't much room, the way his legs were caught, but Antony made do, and in fact used it to great effect, his tongue forced to drag slow and long between the two mounds.

 

Stevyn lay suddenly still, panting hot and wet into the straw.

 

“Has anyone?” Antony wondered heatedly after a few moments.

 

“Aye,” Stevyn said tightly, letting out a shaking breath when Antony went back to the slow licking. “When I was a younger man. When I'd only just begun. But you shan't.”

 

“How will you stop me?”

 

“Would you do so against my will?”

 

Antony hummed.

 

“It shall not be against your will, Chiefson...”

 

His free hand came up, pulling one cheek aside so he could work his tongue deeper, pressing it to Stevyn's entrance. The Chiefson shifted, growling, and his hips jerked forwards as if to escape. But Antony just pressed his hand down and held Stevyn there, leaving him nowhere else to go.

 

“You will stay down willingly for me,” Antony purred between presses and wriggles of his tongue. “You will spread your legs for me. You will beg for my cock...”

 

Stevyn fisted the hand behind his back and the other grasped at the straw.

 

“Get off me,” he growled, but it sounded unconvincing even to him.

 

Instead, Antony just pressed his tongue deeper, until Stevyn couldn't bite back the low moan that eased from his throat. Antony smirked and let go of Stevyn's arm, but before the Chiefson had even realised, he had slid up his back, pressing against him to keep him pinned.

 

“You started this, Chiefson...” he reminded Stevyn, words a soft, breathy purr against his ear. One calloused hand slid with surprising gentleness up Stevyn's throat until Antony could press his fingers against his lips. “Open up,” he said, the other hand lifting Stevyn's hips so he could reach around and lazily begin to stroke him.

 

Stevyn pressed his lips together as Antony's fingertips traced back and forth along them.

 

“I'll stop if you refuse,” Antony warned, his still-clothed hips rolling rhythmically against Stevyn's behind.

 

Stevyn didn't really mind if he stopped that rocking, but he did mind if he stopped the stroking. He weighed his options and eventually parted his lips.

 

“There now,” Antony said. “That was easy, wasn't it?”

 

Stevyn growled, but his mouth instinctively worked against Antony's fingers when they pressed into his mouth. The Iron Man's thumb stroked gently back and forth across Stevyn's cheek while his other hand stroked up and down his cock, his pleasure a heavy evidence in Antony's grip.

 

When Antony's fingers slid free of his mouth, Stevyn knew their next job and he bucked against the other man's grip, toes scrabbling in the straw, but Antony used his position and his weight to hold him down.

 

“Shh,” he soothed, still stroking Stevyn's cock slowly. “I shall look after you, Stevyn...”

 

And he pressed a finger within the other man.

 

Stevyn stilled at the sensation, then bared his teeth, growling lowly and bucked his body again, as much as he could in the position Antony held him to.

 

“All your fight will come to nothing, Chiefson,” Antony murmured, working the finger gently in and out, a skilled counterpoint to the movements of his other hand. Stevyn would have been dismayed to find his body go to jelly and shiverings if he wasn't enjoying it so much. He couldn't really hide it any more.

 

Antony added a second finger, having slid down to ease its passage with his own tongue once again licking and dragging between the cheeks of Stevyn's ass.

 

“Antony...” Stevyn said, trying to tell him off, but it came out pleading.

 

Antony chuckled, pushing one of Stevyn's legs wide and high and thrusting his fingers deep, tongue alongside them.

 

“Antony!” Stevyn cried, both hands fisting in the straw now.

 

Antony licked and pressed and withdrew until Stevyn was an embarrassingly willing puddle beneath him, moaning and arching. He'd forgotten all his fight, just like Antony had predicted. The Iron Man was just too good with his hands and tongue.

 

Then he was gone.

 

It took Stevyn much too long to register his absence. By the time he'd fully acknowledged it, Antony was back, a small bottle in hand and his breeches gone. He uncorked it and trickled just a little of its contents into the small of Stevyn's back. Sliding his fingers around Stevyn's waist, he began to massage and work the oil into the other man's skin, drawing a series of small groans and almost-whimpers. Then his thumbs worked lower and soon he was pushing one into Stevyn again, working some of the oil into his body.

 

His movements were slow and deliberate, and soon Stevyn's body was rolling in the same manner, rising up towards Antony each time he withdrew his thumb.

 

“Antony...” he whispered, not for the first time, canting his hips invitingly, unconsciously.

 

“Look at you now...” Antony purred, delighted. “Such a proud warrior, undone for me.” He licked his teeth. “Spread your legs for me...”

 

“No,” Stevyn said, but he badly wanted to. Antony's thumb just wasn't enough.

 

“Stevyn...” Antony said warningly. He slid his hand down to Stevyn's inner thigh and pushed his legs apart instead. Despite himself, Stevyn did arch his hips and push his knees further.

 

Antony knelt up to coat himself with the oil then used one hand to guide himself, pressing just the head of his cock into the other man.

 

Stevyn shuddered and dropped his head, once more losing what little fight he had mustered.

 

“Antony... s-stop...” he said.

 

Antony just laughed soft and low, leaning down over the other man and licking at the back of his neck.

 

“Is that what you really wish?” he asked.

 

Silence stretched long between them, Antony twitching his hips just a little, an inch in, an inch out, over and over again, never fully or deeply entering him until Stevyn made a frustrated sound.

 

“No!” he cried.

 

“No?” Antony echoed. “No what?”

 

“No... I... do not wish you to stop.”

 

“No?” Antony said again.

 

“No! I wish... I... wish... you would hurry up and keep going!”

 

Antony laughed but he didn't keep him waiting, thrusting deep, right to the hilt. He rotated his hips a couple of times, his fingers curling around Stevyn's waist. The Chiefson moaned and pressed back against him and he took it for permission, beginning to thrust in earnest.

 

Stevyn gripped at the straw and rolled back against him, making low sounds of pleasure with each thrust. He pushed up suddenly, kneeling up and twisting his body to catch Antony's mouth with his own and kiss him hungrily, the Iron Man still thrusting up into him.

 

“Antony...” he groaned into the other man's mouth, arching when Antony's hands stroked down his chest and abs then back up again.

 

“Oh, Chiefson. Stevyn, Stevyn, Stevyn. How beautiful you are,” Antony breathed, his hand splaying across Stevyn's flexing abs.

 

He soon pressed the other man back down to the straw, a hand between his shoulder blades, so he could thrust into him in earnest, his free hand curling around Stevyn's cock to stroke in time with his thrusts.

 

Neither of them lasted much longer, but Stevyn lost his last shred of control first, hips bucking into Antony's hand as he came. A few more thrusts, and Antony followed suit, groaning Stevyn's name.

 

Stevyn liked how it sounded.

 

They flopped onto the ground, panting, Antony kissing at Stevyn's neck. Eventually, he said;

 

“You are mine now, Chiefson...”

 

Stevyn snorted wearily.

 

“As usual, you have far too high an opinion of yourself,” he said tightly. “I desire to bathe. Get off.”

 

Antony smirked, but pushed up to his knees and withdrew, rolling his muscled shoulders. He planted his hands on his hips, watching as Stevyn stood.

 

“Are you angry, Chiefson?” he teased.

 

Stevyn didn't answer, tugging on his breeches and sliding his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. Antony made no move to dress, only his shirt hanging from his shoulders where it had remained.

 

“Are you going to try and pretend you hated it?” he asked.

 

Stevyn scowled at him.

 

“I am not a liar,” he said lowly.

 

Antony's smirk grew into a grin.  
  
“Ah. Then you _did_ enjoy it.”

 

Stevyn said nothing. Instead he left the stable, shoving Antony's shoulder as he passed him.

 

“It will not happen like that again.”

 

Antony didn't bother answering him, just continued grinning as he listened to his retreating footsteps.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“Chiefson?”

 

Stevyn lifted his head from the edge of the spring, pushing up on his elbows where they rested on the rock, worn smooth by years and years of use.

 

“Samael?”

 

“Did you give the Iron Man your leave to take Leialak up?”

 

Stevyn's brows drew together and he pushed his long hair back from his face as he sat up properly.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because he has, Cheifson. It is my turn to feed the clutch. Leialak wasn't there, but I knew you were up here, so I asked who had taken him out. They told me the Iron Man, and that he would not answer when they asked if you'd given leave.”

 

Stevyn huffed, rolling his eyes. He certainly hadn't _given_ his leave, but then again, he hadn't exactly told him he _didn't_ have it either. They'd become just a little distracted.

 

“He is testing some contraption of his,” Stevyn said, not really answering the question.

 

“Why does he not take Zaleiza up instead?”

 

Stevyn huffed and shrugged his shoulders expressively.

 

“Who knows why the Iron Man does anything? I trust him to take care with Leialak. He might be many things, but a danger to gryphs is hardly one of them.”

 

Samael hesitated, then nodded.

 

“Do you wish me to tell you when he lands?”

 

Stevyn shook his head.

 

“If he has a need to use Leialak to test his newest creation, then I am not going to fight him over it. When have we ever been dissatisfied with the Iron Man's work?”

 

Well, except his fool armour idea, but Stevyn would never shake the rest of the village's faith in their Iron Man just because of one bad idea.

 

“Aye, Chiefson,” Samael said and left him in peace once more.

 

Stevyn let out another huff, pushing his wet hair back and closing his eyes. Perhaps it was time to have that race - although Antony talked big about Zaleiza, he seemed to find Leialak superior for many things at the moment.

 

Not that Stevyn could blame him.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Stevyn had gone to Antony's forge intending to remind him of the race but Antony was working when he arrived and he forgot what he'd come for. The Iron Man made a picture, all flexing muscle and deep concentration written across his features. He didn't notice Stevyn to begin with, but the Chiefson found he didn't mind.

 

He didn't know how long he stood there watching before Antony noticed him and put the hammer aside, rubbing his forearm across his forehead.

 

“Chiefson,” he said, his mouth twitching up in a smirk. “What brings you to my forge? Have you need of something?”

 

Hand on his cocked hip, sweat-sheened and backlit by his forge fire, Antony suddenly _became_ a desperate need, though Stevyn had not come with that intent.

 

“You owe me a race,” Stevyn said, only no he didn't. It came out as; “Will you fly with me?” which was entirely different.

 

Antony's mouth curved.

 

“Oh, Chiefson, is that seemly?” he teased.

 

“I care not,” Stevyn said. “And why should it not be anyhow? I am free to fly with whomever I want and spend time with whomever I want and-”

 

“Rut?” Antony said archly.

 

“ _Lay with_ whomever I want.”

 

Antony laughed and it was a good sound. He came over to Stevyn, curling two fingers in the waistband of his breeches and pulling him a step closer. He smelled of coal and fire and sweat and Stevyn breathed him in unashamedly.

 

“That is what you really want, is it not?” he wondered.

 

“No,” Stevyn breathed across Antony's tempting mouth, from which a chuckle issued.

 

“Liar,” the Iron Man said softly.

 

“Well,” Stevyn dissembled. “I should not deny the desire, however I was sincere when I asked that you fly with me.”

 

Antony leaned back, his eyes tipping up to study Stevyn's own expression. His smile this time was a little softer.

 

“You mean it.”

 

“Aye,” Stevyn said, his hand catching in the small of Antony's back where his shirt had ridden up under the strap of his forging apron.

 

Antony smiled brilliantly.

 

“I should enjoy that, Chiefson,” he said, his own hand pressing between Stevyn's shoulder blades. “But I must wash first.”

 

Stevyn's mouth twitched.

 

“I see no reason to,” he replied. “You appeal to me greatly in this state.”

 

“I shall remember that! However, I do not appeal to Zaleiza in this state. I will be no more than a quarter candlemark. You might fetch the gryphs and bring them to the springs, if you like,” Antony said as he banked the forge fire and hung up his hammer, putting the sheet of iron he'd been working on aside to cool.

 

Stevyn nodded.

 

“I may as well, rather than wait about like a lovelorn weanling.”

 

“Are you not?”

 

Stevyn swung playfully at him but Antony only laughed and ducked out of the way before he left the forge, grinning from ear to ear.

 

Stevyn knew he was doing the same as he wandered down from the forge to the Nests. He fetched out Leialak first, knowing full well the gryph would be overwhelmed with jealously if he thought he was being overlooked. Once he was saddled, he went for Zaleiza.

 

He hadn't had much to do with her but a couple of pieces of ferret guts from a handy bucket soon had her on side. She was a fine looking creature, Stevyn had to give Antony that. She was peregrine falcon in her bird half, cheetah in her cat. She sat quite still and obediently gnawing slowly on an entrail in full view of Leialak. She was clearly teasing him but Stevyn left well enough alone as he saddled her. They would sort it out themselves if they needed to.

 

Neither of them fussed much at all as he lead them up to springs, except that Leialak tried to steal the dangling end of the entrail from Zaleiza's beak and she snapped it up out of his way and swallowed it.

 

Antony was climbing out of one of the springs when they arrived, water running in steaming rivulets down his muscled back. Zaleiza chirred softly the second she saw him and there was no way he could have failed to hear it, so Stevyn knew he was just showing off when he stretched up onto his toes, arms up and fingers linked together above his head, palms turned towards the darkening sky.

 

Finally he turned, a teasing glint in his eye, and grinned at them. Well, mostly at his gryph.

 

“There you are, gorgeous bird,” he said affectionately, striding over to scritch under her chin.

 

She fluffed her feathers happily and beaked at his dark hair, disturbing the water beaded there.

 

“Should I have picked up some pants for you as well?” Stevyn asked with an arched brow.

 

“No, I've some here,” Antony replied, unconcerned and smirking.

 

The bastard.

 

“Excellent,” Stevyn said. “Because I imagine flying naked is somewhat uncomfortable.”

 

“You imagine? Haveyou never?”

 

“Are you saying you have?” Stevyn asked, scandalised or shocked, he wasn't sure which.

 

“Well. You shall never know, shall you?” Antony said infuriatingly and went to get dressed.

 

Zaleiza paced after him and Stevyn dropped her lead rope because it was clear she wouldn't leave her master.

 

He enjoyed watching Antony get dressed.

 

That done, the Iron Man turned and ran his fingers through Zaleiza's neck feathers then swung up into her saddle and attached his Last Line.

 

“Come on, then,” he said with an inviting smile and drew back on his gryph's reigns. She kicked up her forelegs and leapt into the air, wings beating hard to get her into the air.

 

Leialak screeched and Stevyn was quick to swing into his saddle and let him follow after her.

 

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, bleeding ruby and amethyst across the sky and the light flickered off their gryphs' feathers, lighting them to fire.

 

Antony slowed Zaleiza to let Leialak draw level with her and they flew in silence for a time, enjoying the cool evening breeze and watching the stars beginning to flare to life. Stevyn enjoyed the soothing sound of the wind through the gryphs' pinions and he often glanced across to find Antony watching him in return.

 

“Let us see what these two can do, shall we girl?” Antony said eventually and dipped Zaleiza's wing into banking.

 

Stevyn followed easily, muscle memory tipping his body into the turn as the gryphon's tilted. Quite suddely, Antony aimed Zaleiza's beak vertical and she began to climb, giving hard beats of her wings then tucking them against her body to cut through the air like an arrow until she began to slow down and had to beat them again.

 

“Impressive,” Stevyn said sincerely. “Come, Leialak.”

 

Leialak didn't need telling twice. As soon as Stevyn gave him his head he began to follow her. He gained on her each wing-beat, his wingspan wider and broader than hers so he could scoop more air.

 

They were coming close to the maximum height either gryph or rider could withstand but Stevyn would not be bested by Antony so he didn't peel off. The Iron Man grinned fiercely at him then drew back on Zaleiza's reigns, tipping her over backwards and into a spiralling dive.

 

It was beautiful to see and Stevyn hovered to watch it, not allowing Leialak to follow just yet. Zaleiza let her wings fall loose and they curled around her like a dancer as she spiralled downwards, almost too fast, almost too close when Antony whistled and she snapped them open again, halting their decent almost instantly.

 

Yes, Stevyn thought, Antony certainly could fly.

 

Leialak wasn't built for a move like that. He was small, but not as small as Zaleiza. Instead, Stevyn let him fall into a stoop, more diagonal than straight down as Antony's had been and they whizzed past close enough to ruffle the Iron Man's hair.

 

“Outstanding control, Cheifson!” Antony called.

 

“And you,” Stevyn replied coming alongside. “That was stunning. She is like a dancer.”

 

Antony smiled, clearly pleased at the praise.

 

“You flatter us. Thank you.”

 

“It is hardly flattery if it be true.”

 

They couldn't come close enough to kiss, the gryphs' wingspans too wide for that, but Stevyn wanted to and he was certain Antony felt it too.

 

“Come,” the Iron Man said. “Show us what else you can do.”

 

“Only if you do the same,” Stevyn said.

 

“Try and stop me.”

 

Antony began to climb again and Stevyn followed, still grinning. They flew late into the night and when they landed Antony got the better of him again, but he couldn't find it in himself to care as he groaned and writhed on the Iron Man's furs.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Eventually, Stevyn had remembered to ask Antony about the race. Half the village – probably more like nearly all of it – had turned out to watch.

 

Stevyn was watching Zaleiza. She was currently in a resting state, sitting in the sun with her feathers all fluffed up as she watched the bustle around her with sharp, narrowed eyes.

 

“Next breeding season, Chiefson, you should trade for breeding rights with Zaleiza.”

 

Buk's voice was a pleasing thing to hear.

 

It had been twenty five sunsets since Antony had lain Stevyn down after their flight. A total of thirty five since Buk's injury. Brues was all kinds of furious that Buk was walking around, putting stress on the bindings and such that protected his wound, but there had been no keeping him in bed any longer. Three warriors together hadn't been able to keep him there, even one-armed.

 

“Is that what you think?” Stevyn said, grinning a little.

 

Buk eased himself down on a rock, tilting a little to one side, a habit he'd picked up for balance, Stevyn assumed.

 

“That is what I think,” he affirmed. “She and Leialak would produce a beautiful clutch.”

 

“They are not the same breeds,” Stevyn pointed out.

 

“Sometimes mixed chicks are the strongest,” Buk replied.

 

Stevyn nodded thoughtfully.

 

“It is worth considering,” he murmured.

 

He didn't think Antony would have a problem with it. After all, he hadn't shown any aversion to their own... breeding.

 

Twice more Antony had lain him down. He didn't know what it was about the Iron Man that drove him to eventually give in. He had lain with plenty of men who were as skilled and knowledgeable as Antony, but never had one lain him down before.

 

“Chiefson? Your thoughts seem to be elsewhere. You must concentrate. Zaleiza _is_ faster than Leialak.”

 

Stevyn nodded as he stood, pulling a slight frown. He knew that. She was also more agile than him, he could attest to that. He was banking on Leialak's strength to give him a speed advantage, as it had when they chased Zaleiza up into the air, but they hadn't flown their fastest that evening, so he'd no idea what her top speed actually was.

 

“Come, Chiefson. They will think you are afraid...” came Antony's mocking tones.

 

Buk gave him a push and he gathered up Leialak's reins as he headed over to where Antony was mounting, Zaleiza flexing her wings in clear eagerness.

 

“Twice around the Dragon's Teeth,” Samael said, standing on the makeshift starting line.

 

“Aye, we know the terms,” Stevyn replied, swinging up into the saddle.

 

Samael nodded and took a step back out of their way.

 

“Ready?”

 

They both nodded and Samael raised his arm, then chopped it down through the air and the two gryphons shot into the air.

 

Zaleiza took the lead immediately and Leialak screeched, disliking it intensely. He stretched his wings to their full extent and beat them strong, trying to catch her, but as it turned out, she was _ridiculously_ fast when they weren't climbing, and as Stevyn already knew, Antony sat her well.

 

They trailed all the way to the first of the Dragon's Teeth when Antony tilted Zaleiza down to ride the warm air currents that wafted up through the jagged mountains. Leialak caught them more easily with his larger wingspan, and they finally gained on them and pulled in front of Antony and Zaleiza.

 

Leialak screeched again, much happier now and Stevyn let him ride the air currents up, then stooped, creating more space between them with the speed of it. They remained in front through the taller teeth, which the gryphons had to dodge and weave through, but she was gaining on them. She was _such_ an agile flier, Stevyn thought in admiration in a momentary lull when they were both gliding around one of the mountain peaks.

 

And Antony was as brilliant as he had been when they flew together.

 

He rode her so effortlessly, his body shifting and tipping to aid her turns, dips and rises. Had he chosen to be a warrior, he would have been spectacular. He _was_ spectacular and Stevyn was starting to doubt he could match it. He'd thought Leialak's strength would even out with Zaleiza's speed, but she was bred from racing gryphs, and it showed.

 

When they came around in sight of Renevaar, a clear, straight flight, Zaleiza took the lead again, streaking below them and cutting through the air with rapid, scooping beats of her wings.

 

Buk was right. She and Leialak would make a beautiful clutch.

 

Soon they were back amongst the Dragon's Teeth, near then far apart, high then low. Antony swept Zaleiza over their heads, laughing as she plucked at Stevyn's hair with her claws and the Chiefson couldn't help the grin that curved his mouth. With a twist of his body and an arch of his back, he turned Leialak onto his back. It was a new move, one he'd been working on since their flight. After all, he couldn't let Zaleiza be the only one with clever tricks. It was difficult, though, and he couldn't maintain it for long, but Zaleiza gave a pleased chirrup and patted at Leialak's claws and paws with her own before they flipped upright again.

 

“Impressive, Chiefson, but do not think I will let you win because of it!” Antony cried, flying just a little higher so the gryph's wings wouldn't connect.

 

“Nor shall I,” Stevyn called back, dipping Leialak a little so he could strike the spike of one of the Teeth with his claws and paws and push off, breaking a length or two in front of Antony and Zaleiza.

 

“You need not worry about letting me win!” Antony called as they swooped over the top of the other two. “You shall never catch me!”

 

They never did. Not with any real conviction any way. Once or twice they got a beak in front but most of the time they were literally chasing tail while Stevyn marvelled at Antony's skills.

 

Zaleiza crossed the finish line well before Leialak.

 

Stevyn was surprised he didn't feel angrier or more frustrated. There was some of that, yes, but more than anything, he was in admiration of Zaleiza, and of Antony who, as he'd said, could definitely fly.

 

Of course he wouldn't say any of that, at least not with all these onlookers around. He congratulated Antony coolly, then lead Leialak back to the stables for a well-deserved rest and warm meal. Once he was certain the gryph was comfortable, he strode back up the mountain and headed to his chambers.

 

He wasn't really surprised when there came a knock on his door, and the Iron Man stuck his head around it without even so much as a by-your-leave.

 

“You have no manners,” Stevyn groused.

 

“I knocked,” Antony said with his usual insufferable smirk. The rest of his body snaked its way in after his head and he pushed the door closed behind him.

 

Just the sight of him had adrenaline spiking through Stevyn's body, excitement and irritation and desire and his fight-or-flight instinct, definitely tipped massively towards fight. He was built so solidly, muscle encased in olive skin that Stevyn was beginning to know very well. Maybe it would end for a fourth time with him lain down, but he found the thought didn't make him any less inclined to engage with Antony.

 

“You look hungry, Chiefson,” Antony said, cocking a hip and curling his fingers against it as he propped his hand there. “I did not come here for that.” But his mouth was tilted at one side, an expression Stevyn was coming to recognise and enjoy.

 

“I know what you came for,” Stevyn said, indicating the fur before the fireplace. It wasn't lit. The days were still too warm for that.

 

“Aye,” Antony murmured, his eyes never leaving Stevyn as he prowled over to the pelt and crouched, pressing his fingers into the thick, white fur. “It is a beautiful pelt.”

 

“Aye,” Stevyn replied. “It was expensively traded for.”

 

“Think you my victory is not enough to earn it?” Antony teased, elbows resting on his bunched thighs and hands hanging between them in his lazy crouch.

 

“Nay,” Stevyn replied graciously. “I think you earned it well. Zaleiza is fast and you fly her very well. It makes me wonder why you chose to be Iron Man instead of a warrior.”

 

Antony laughed.

 

“I could say it is because I am stronger of mind than you, but I actually don't believe that. I think we are just strong of the mind in different ways.”

 

“Although you did tell me your apprentices are stronger of the mind than I!” Stevyn pointed out.

 

“I never said that. I just said they _are_ strong of mind.”

 

“And not of body,” Stevyn pointed out, a smirk twitching against his own mouth.

 

“Unlike you,” Antony said.

 

Stevyn blinked, and his smirk grew into a proper grin.

 

“Why, Antony, I believe that is the first kind thing you've said to me in some time.”

 

“Nonsense,” Antony replied. “I have frequently told you how beautiful you are when I am buried deep within you.”

 

Stevyn licked his upper teeth.

 

“Hmm,” he said, dragging the sound out as he strode over to crouch on the opposite side of the pelt to Antony. “I am trying to forget those times.”

 

“ _Liar_ ,” Antony accused and leapt at him, but Stevyn was ready for it and swayed out of the way, catching Antony's shoulder and rolling him back and down onto the pelt on his back.

 

He caught the other man's mouth hungrily and Antony returned it in the same vein. The more he had of the Iron Man the less satisfied he was. The intensity Antony always wore like a warcloak that had fascinated Stevyn from the beginning was now entirely trained on him. He was almost certain that was what he craved more than anything.

 

Skilled fingers worked at laces and buckles, and it wasn't long before they both lay naked, Stevyn still sprawled out heavily across Antony's frame.

 

Antony laughed cheerfully and Stevyn grinned back at him, fingers mapping muscle and sinew.

 

“I keep you from your projects,” he said, but the Iron Man only shook his head.

 

“I care not.”

 

Neither did Stevyn. There were probably things he should be doing other than licking his way down the center of Antony's chest and belly, other than dipping his tongue into his navel and riding the arch of his body, but he cared not. He couldn't even find it in himself to pretend to care.

 

Instead, he closed his mouth around Antony's cock and-

 

“Stevyn!”

 

It came weirdly from two directions, in Antony's sex-roughened husk just above him and one of his family's attendants' insistent calls beyond the door. A knock accompanied the latter.

 

Stevyn lifted his head.

 

“ _What_?” he growled.

 

The attendant clearly judged from his tone of his voice that he wasn't pleased at being interrupted for he lead off with;

 

“Apologies, Chiefson, but the Chief and Chiefsbound have called upon you.”

 

Stevyn growled.

 

“Tell them I should be along soon,” he tried.

 

“Nay, Chiefson,” was the firm reply. “They have called upon you _now_.”

 

Antony, the son of a runt, was laughing, low and insistent and far too attractive for his own good.

 

Stevyn smacked the outside of the Iron Man's leg as he knelt up then pushed to his feet.

 

“Aye,” he called, dismayed by the way Antony smirked at him, tongue tip against a canine, and _circled his fingers around his own cock_. “I shall be along directly.”

 

“Off you go, Chiefson,” Antony said belligerently. “But you can hardly expect me to wait for you...”

 

Stevyn dressed to a string of dirty sounds from Antony's direction, but refused to look at him. Mostly because he knew he wouldn't be able to walk out the door if he did.

 

As he walked towards his parents' chambers, he drew his cloak about him to hide his excitement.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“No Chiefson or Chiefsdaughter has been made to do that for a hundred years!” Stevyn cried, feeling tense and hot all over and not for want of pleasure any more.

 

“It is necessary,” his father replied calmly, budging not an inch to his blustering. “These attacks by the Aisuan have grown in ferocity and now one of your best men has lost his arm and probably his ability to fight. Six more warriors were injured and four more _killed_. I shan't have it any more and this is the way to stop it.”

 

“Nay! We could fly upon them, take their village and make them pay in blood tenfold that which they took from Buk and our people!”

 

Stevyn looked to his mother for support, but she was stony-faced and shook her head minutely. He would find no ally there.

 

“Father, you cannot force-”

 

“I can do as I like, Chiefson,” was the steely reply. “I am your Chief before I am your father.”

 

Stevyn ground his teeth together, his hands fisting by his hips.

 

“You would take from me the choice of my own Chiefsbound? The choice you and your father and his mother before that were allowed to make? For what? Because you do not trust your own warriors to defend Renevaar and her people to the _death_?!”

 

His father shook his head.

 

“Nay, Chiefson. Because I _do_ trust them to defend our village and our people to the death, and I desire that no more shall.”

 

“Nor shall they, for I should take _every clutch_ from Renevaar and slaughter their warriors to the man!” Stevyn snarled.

 

“Enough,” his father said, sharp and unforgiving and Stevyn fell silent, trembling with frustrated anger. “You shall do as you are told and shall argue no longer about it. As Chiefson, and future Chief, it is your duty to serve your people however they need you to. This is their need, Stevyn. This is your duty.”

 

Stevyn made an animalistic, frustrated sound and stormed out.

 

He kicked open his own door and was very surprised to find Antony still there, dozing on the pelt. His frustration grew as his eyes dragged across the man's olive skin, burnished bronze in the uncertain light of the setting sun coming in through the thick windows.

 

Binding wasn't something his people did lightly. It meant joining. It meant loyalty. It meant _fidelity_. He couldn't go against his Chief's word and this arranged binding would end this business with Antony as abruptly as it had started.

 

He stalked over and jabbed Antony with a toe.

 

“Get up,” he ground out.

 

Antony's eyelids fluttered open and he stretched, looking up at Stevyn. He grinned lazily, brown eyes veiled by thick lashes.

 

“I did. But then you had-”

 

“I said get up,” Stevyn growled.

 

Antony frowned.

 

“What is it?” he asked as he stood.

 

Stevyn just folded his arms and didn't answer, his jaw set. It would be easier to do this quickly, he was sure.

 

“Leave. We are done.”

 

Antony's eyes narrowed and he drew himself up, folding his arms. He didn't look about to budge.

 

“What happened? What did they say?” he demanded.

 

“What the Chief and Chiefsbound tell their Chiefson is none of your concern, Iron Man.”

 

“Oh, I believe it is, since we-”

 

“We have enjoyed each other's company, but we are done,” Stevyn cut in.

 

“You can't just-”

 

“I can do as I like. I am Chiefson.”

 

Antony almost bared his teeth.

 

“If you interrupt me one more time...” he said warningly.

 

Stevyn just arched a brow, his jaw set.

 

Antony's own jaw ticked he was clenching it so hard.

 

“I've work to do anyhow,” he said darkly and moments later, he was dressed and gone.

 

Stevyn threw himself into his furs and covered his head.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

The next few sunsets passed in great frustration for Stevyn. Antony wouldn't leave him alone. Ostensibly, he was using Leialak to test that contraption of his, but it didn't explain why he seemed to end up in the springs whenever Stevyn was there, and shoulder his way in beside him at the feasting table, and walk past his chambers at all hours.

 

He was insistent, demanding to know why Stevyn had become so cold towards him, posturing and showing off and turning Stevyn's eye. And despite his intentions, it worked more often than Stevyn cared to admit. Time and again they ended up in one or other of their furs, or in some secret corner or in a secluded spring.

  
Each time Stevyn would swear it wouldn't happen again, that he would end it, that this was the last dalliance. And then it would happen again.

 

Now it had happened again just two or three candlemarks from the time his bond was due to cross the Dragon's Teeth.

 

They were tucked away in a corner of one of the fruit tree groves, Stevyn curled over Antony and both of them panting against one another's mouths, one each of their hands wrapped around both their cocks pressed between them.

 

“Stevyn...” Antony said, breathless and intent. “Tell me why you keep trying to deny me.”

 

“Because I do not need you,” he replied tightly.

 

“Mayhap, but you want me,” Antony said, and Stevyn couldn't argue with him. “Every time your resolve has failed you. _Why_ do you keep on trying?”

 

Stevyn was silent for a long time, breathing in the scent of fire and iron and sweat and fruit.

 

“...Our chief has arranged me a binding, to end this conflict with the Aisuan.”

 

Antony jerked away from him, insofar as he could, pinned beneath him as he was. He searched Stevyn's blue gaze as though seeking a lie.

 

“You are promised?” he asked. “Stevyn... your father has promised you?”

 

Stevyn nodded, bangs mingling with Antony's and the Iron Man's face drew into a tight frown, head shaking slowly.

 

“No one promises their children any more.”

 

“He has. The Aisuan Chief has sent her promised already. She crosses the Dragon's Teeth later today.”

 

Antony pushed him off and moved to his feet in one fluid movement, lacing his pants.

 

“You have been promised since that day your father and mother summoned you and you have not told me?”

 

Stevyn shook his head.

 

“I did not know how. I don't want-”

 

“I have...” Antony started abortively and tried again; “I am...” He couldn't finish that either and in the finish just turned on his heel and strode away across the grove.

 

“Antony!” Stevyn called.

 

“Do not follow me!” the Iron Man snapped over his shoulder and then he was gone.

 

Stevyn pushed his hand through his hair and tipped his head back, swallowing against the unfamiliar burning in his throat.

 

He didn't know how long he stood there like that, but eventually he stirred himself and went to clean up and dress properly to receive his new bond.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

No matter how dressed up he was, Stevyn could never top the Aisuan party. They bred ornamental gryphs as well as battlegryphs and labouring gryphs like the Renevaaran, and the battlegryphs Stevyn _could_ see seemed to have had their feathers dyed.

 

The lead gryph was a hen harrier, ocelot combination whose pale feathers had been highlighted and patterned with purple dye. While Stevyn couldn't see the use it had, he wouldn't deny she wore it attractively.

 

Ranged around in a guarding circle were three more gryphs, also dyed and patterned.

 

Buk shifted beside him.

 

“Is that...?” he said slowly.

 

“...Aye...” Stevyn replied, almost as awed as Buk sounded.

 

The woman in the centre of the circle rode a peacock gryph. They were notoriously hard to breed, but this one was a perfect specimen. Stevyn thought he might be lynx in his cat half, but it was hard to tell, because peacock genes spread through the cat half, colouring the fur to match the green-gold feathers and leading into a fanning peacock tail rather than a cat one.

 

“Too bad you're not promised to that. He's _beautiful_ ,” Buk breathed.

 

“Shut up,” Stevyn muttered, giving him a shove. But Buk just smirked.

 

The woman and her party circled down to land, the peacock gryph flaring his tail and posturing. The man on the purple-dyed gryph dismounted and strode over, taking to one knee before Stevyn.

 

“Well met, Stevyn Chiefson. I am Klinte. My chief has sent me to ensure the safety of her Chiefsdaughter until she was at your side.”

Stevyn bowed his head in understanding, then lifted his eyes to the woman dismounting the peacock. At first glance she didn't _look_ like the kind of woman who would ride something so gaudy as a peacock. She was dressed as sensibly as Stevyn himself, in breeches, a lace-up shirt and her warcloak. As she adjusted its sit around her shoulders, he caught the glint of a blade at her hip.

 

“Please excuse my Chiefsdaughter's appearance,” Klinte muttered, drawing Stevyn's gaze back to him. “She insisted it was too long a flight to dress impractically for.”

 

Stevyn's mouth twitched. Maybe she wouldn't be so bad after all. He didn't answer Klinte but stepped past him and strode over to the woman, offering his arm as he would to a warrior rather than a weaver or painter. She seemed to appreciate it because a smile broke through her wary facade and she clasped his forearm warmly. He returned the gesture, and wasn't at all surprised by the lean muscle he felt there.

 

“Chiefsdaughter,” he said by way of greeting.

 

“Chiefson,” she replied. “I am Natya.”

 

“Stevyn.”

 

“Aye, I know.” Her mouth twitched. “My people tell your stories.”

 

“But mine not yours,” he said curiously. “I find this strange.”

 

She pulled a face.

 

“Aye, well. My Chief is less inclined to let me lead a clutch or even be a part of one when it comes to actual battle. I have to be... sneaky about it. You might have heard tell of me.”

 

“Aye? But not as Natya?” he asked in amusement.

 

“Indeed not,” she replied. She indicated one of the gryphs that had escorted her in. It was a crow-panther, strength in its every line. “I believe most of our enemies – or erstwhile enemies – know us as-”

 

“Black Widow!” Buk cried at a pitch and timbre that, frankly, was thoroughly embarrassing for him and Stevyn both.

 

Klinte, who had stood, couldn't smother his snort of laughter and Buk shot a glare at him, but he didn't seem phased by it. Natya's mouth twitched in amusement, then she moved to introduce the rest of her party; Rodan, Coul and Jespyr.

 

They went through the business of nesting the new gryphs and showing the party around Renevaar, then Buk and Thor took the warriors to the springs while Stevyn was left to introduce Natya to his parents then show her her chambers.

 

He bowed a little at her door.

 

“Do you desire that I come and collect you for the evening meal, or can you remember your own way there?”

 

“I should manage, Chiefson,” she replied, which he'd expected.

 

He bowed his head again and began to turn but she hailed him again and he halted, glancing back at her.

 

“Chiefson, this is an old custom. I know not if your people still practise it, but there have been no arranged bondings in Aisua for many generations.”

 

Stevyn shook his head.

 

“Nor in Renevaar,” he replied and she nodded.

 

“But our people...” she trailed off, pushing her hand through her red hair.

 

“Our people need us to be their Chiefson and Chiefsdaughter,” Stevyn finished for her. “So that is what we must do.”

 

She looked up at him and nodded a faint smile flickering across her features.

 

For a final time, he bowed his head and left with a promise to greet her at the evening meal.

 

It was with a heavy sigh that he began towards the training arena. As he came around a corner, he quite literally ran into Antony.

 

The Iron Man stumbled and juggled the bound bundle in his arms, cursing when it nearly flew from his grip. Stevyn steadied it hastily.

 

“Apologies,” he said.

 

Antony's eyes flickered up to his own then away again and he grunted an acknowledgement then;

 

“Do you know where Buk is?”

 

Stevyn hesitated.

 

“Antony-”

 

“ _Do_ you know where Buk is?” Antony repeated tightly, almost through his teeth.

 

“...Aye,” Stevyn said. “He took the new warriors to the springs.”

 

“My thanks, _Chiefson_ ,” Antony said, turning on his heel.

 

Stevyn caught his shoulder.

 

“I could not-”

 

Antony shrugged his hand off, almost snarling.

 

“There were many things you could have done, Chiefson, the first of which should have been to tell me what had gone on. Instead, cowardly, you sent me from your chambers and continually tried to rebuff my advances, but inevitably gave in to them. I believed you were playing the same game we've played our entire adult lives.” Antony turned and faced him finally. “And you have made me want you. And you have made me crave you. But you are all but bonded, Chiefson, and I am just the Iron Man. Good day.”

 

He was off again before Stevyn could stop him and would not stop when he called.

 

Stevyn continued to the arena to work off some frustration hacking at a training doll with his sword.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Stevyn tore angrily at the leg of meat on his plate as though it had personally offended him. It was evening, three sunsets after the party had arrived from Aisua and the Chiefson couldn't stop himself keep looking across the hall, though the sight only served to anger him further.

 

Antony had come into the hall with that new warrior, Rodan. They may as well have been arm-in-arm for how closely they bowed their heads, Antony talking animatedly and Rodan replying enthusiastically.

 

Stevyn wanted to go over and shoulder his way in between them, find out what they were talking about. He could guess – or he thought so. By the way Antony's hands were punctuating his words with gestures and movements it was most likely about something he was working on. Maybe even that fool armour.

 

He forced himself to look away, turning his attention to his meal and the conversation around him, but ever did his eyes rove back towards Antony and Rodan.

 

“It is well to see our people becoming friends, is it not, Chiefson?” Natya broke into his thoughts, watching Klinte talk very seriously with Buk about an arrow he had in his hands. Why he had it at dinner, Stevyn didn't know, but it wasn't the most unusual thing he'd seen at dinner.

 

“Aye,” Stevyn said, hoping it didn't sound forced.

 

Her hand touched his forearm lightly.

 

“Are you well, Chiefson?” she asked astutely.

 

“Aye,” he replied, waving her off. “I am sorry. My mind is wandering.”

 

“Where?” she asked with a half-grin. “Is it something I should I know, or something not fit for a lady?”

 

His mouth twitched a little.

 

“Somehow, I think there is little not fit for you, Chiefsdaughter.”

 

“I am glad you see it that way,” she replied, patting his arm again. She hesitated, still watching Buk and Klinte, then eventually said; “Was he injured in a battle with my people?”

 

“Aye,” Stevyn said shortly.

 

“I am sorry,” she replied.

 

“It was a battle,” Stevyn said. “Injuries happen. Though I actually am surprised Buk has taken so easily to your warriors. I thought he would be... resentful.”

 

Natasha's eyes drifted back to the warriors in question and she smiled a little.

 

“I am glad it is not so, even if we do not know why. My warriors have given up their previous lives to come here with me and I should feel terribly guilty if they could not make friends and feel a part of Renevaar.

 

“And what about you?” he asked. “Are you beginning to feel a part of this place?”

 

She smiled.

 

“Indeed I am, Chiefson. Indeed.”

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“This bores me,” Natya said flatly seven sunsets later.

 

It was the third time Stevyn had taken her somewhere alone, courting her as his Chief insisted he should, despite Stevyn's own lack of interest in the idea. They had flown to a nearby forest and Stevyn had laid out a picnic. It was beautiful, and he thought he hadn't done at all badly, until she shattered his illusions with her words.

 

“I am sorry?” he asked, hoping he had misheard.

 

“This. Bores me,” she said, annunciating the words clearly.

 

He blinked at her, then a little sarcastically;

 

“What would you rather?”

 

Her eyes turned to him, unimpressed with his tone.

 

“I would _rather_ fly or fight or both. I have already told you I am a warrior before anything else.”

 

He huffed out a breath through his nose.

 

“It does not seem right to fight you,” he replied.

 

She arched a brow.

 

“Indeed?” she asked. “And what if it should be Buk or Rodan or even Marian you courted? Would you fight with them?”

 

He dropped his gaze, shifting his weight uncomfortably. They both knew the answer.

 

“I only came on that damned phoenix because my Chief wished it. K'vrivi is my gryph and she is a warrior, like me.”

 

Indeed she was. She'd given some of the other gryphs what for already and didn't back down from Leialak.

 

“What do you suggest?” Stevyn almost snapped. “That we mount up and spar right now?”

 

“I would not say no!” she replied. “Are you too afraid?”

 

His eyes narrowed.

 

“I am not afraid of any warrior, even the Black Widow.”

 

She laughed.

 

“Then prove it, Chiefson!”

 

She had leapt to her feet and was jogging over to K'vrivi before he even had time to process what she'd said. By the time he made it to Leialak's side, Natya had already untied her gryph, fastened herself to the saddle and taken off.

 

Leialak danced in place, making angry churring sounds in his throat as Stevyn climbed into his saddle and attached his Last Line. Then they were off as well.

 

He had admit, at least to himself, it was far more exciting than the picnic. Natya's blade glinted in the sunshine as she looped K'vriri around and swept down towards them. He brought his own up, defending with a clang, and kicked out towards her. She only laughed and pulled away, re-setting for a new run.

 

He was about to come at her when another gryph streaked up behind him, sweeping low across his head and snatching his blade right out of his hand with its claws.

 

“Never let your guard down, Chiefson!” came a familiar voice and Stevyn looked up.

 

“Buk?”

 

Sure enough, it was Akeeta who held his blade, letting out a pleased screech as Buk turned her in the air and hovered, waving his own blade about in the air.

 

“What...?” Stevyn muttered.

 

He was about to call out to Buk when another streak of barred feathers whipped past him. He recognised Zaleiza immediately and he and Natya brought Leialak and K'vriri in closer to sate their curiosity.

 

The weird contraption Antony had been using Leialak to test was strapped to Buk's shoulder, in place of his missing arm. It was jointed in the middle, like a primitive elbow, and the claw part Stevyn remembered was hooked around the edge of Akeeta's saddle, holding Buk in place so he could use his other arm to bear his blade.

 

“What in the gods' names...?” Stevyn said, looking on in awe.

 

Antony looked far too proud of himself.

 

“Show him how it works, Buk,” he said, gesturing with one hand.

 

Buk slid his blade home in its sheath and dropped his good hand to hold his saddle and reins.

 

“As long as I'm leaning into it, even a little, the claw stays locked around the saddle, so I cannot fall from Akeeta's back while I fight. But the moment I stop putting pressure into it...” He leaned the other way and the claw snapped open, releasing the saddle. “See? So I can still fly into battle with you, but if I am slain, Akeeta will be free to land herself.”

 

Stevyn couldn't help it. His mouth fell open.

 

“Antony, that...” He couldn't think of words enough to describe it. “That is... amazing...” Amazing didn't begin to cover it, but it was a start. “I can hardly believe you have... you...”

 

“You gave him his arm back,” Natya breathed in awe. “You... you _gave_ him his _arm_ back!”

 

Antony's grin was huge and proud and pleased.

 

“Aye,” he said. “At least enough to rejoin his clutch.”

 

“That is all a warrior desires,” Natya replied.

 

Stevyn dragged his eyes with an effort away from Antony and back to Natya.

 

“You know you would be welcome to join my clutch, and work from there for your own if you prefer it.”

 

She looked at him, brows drawing down a little.

 

“You would let me?” she asked. “Even if I am your Chiefsbound?”

 

“Aye,” Stevyn replied. “I would never expect my Chiefsbound to be anything other than what they were before we were bound. My mother has continued to hunt and track and paint.”

 

A true smile broke across Natya's face and reached out to clasp his forearm.

 

“I should like nothing better.”

 

He returned her smile, very, very aware of the other two's eyes on them, especially Antony's.

 

“I am glad of it,” he said then, still clasping her arm, he looked back at Buk and Antony. “We must feast. This is a triumph, Iron Man.”

 

“Oh, Chiefson, I have not yet even begun. Leialak's armour is complete.”

 

“Armour?” Natya echoed. “None but the Sirrom armour their gryphs.”

 

“Until now,” Antony said. “Come, all of you, and see.”

 

He wheeled Zaleiza and began back towards Renevaar, Natya hard on his heels.

 

“My blade?” Stevyn asked dryly.

 

Buk just grinned, locked the claw back around his saddle and took off after the others.

 

“Buk!” Stevyn cried, but all the answer Buk gave was a gleeful laugh.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“Well, he certainly _looks_ striking,” Klinte remarked, shoulder to shoulder with Buk and Natya as they (and quite a few others) examined Leialak in his new armour. Antony had barely put the first few pieces on before they started to gather a crowd, and by the time he was done, half the village had appeared, drawn there by word of mouth.

 

Klinte was right. Leialak looked stunning, the silver plates, polished to an almost mirrored surface, gleaming in the sunlight. Antony had even made him a helmet, a pointed peak laying perfectly down between his eyes and ending just before his beak. It flowed back into several small plates down his neck which didn't restrict his movement, and from there into a series of more small plates down his spine, then larger chest and shoulder pieces, plus more small, linked plates to protect his belly. It seemed as though Antony had thought of all the places a gryph needed ease of movement, and covered these with many small plates, which folded and slid over one another to ensure Leialak was not hampered.

 

Thankfully, Leialak was pleased with all the attention and was happy to show off, rather than reacting badly like he had to the chestplate alone. Stevyn was easily able to send him through a series of ground exercises, including leaps and bounds. The armour barely affected him, and moved and slid so easily it didn't even make much noise.

 

“The true test will come from flight,” Antony said, checking the buckles and joins once Leialak was done.

 

“Aye,” Stevyn said, impressed despite himself, and despite the fact he might be about to eat his words.

 

“Mount up, then, Chiefson,” Antony said, taking a step back.

 

Stevyn snorted, but swung into the saddle. If the armour was too heavy, they wouldn't even get off the ground, but he doubted that, since Leialak had leapt virtually unhindered. He gave Leialak his head and clucked his tongue, twitching the reins.

 

They were in the air in an instant, no slower than usual as far as Stevyn could tell. Zaleiza joined them, then K'vriri and Akeeta and soon half the village on their gryphs as Stevyn followed Antony through several agile loops and spins.

 

“Aye!” Stevyn cried when they were done, hovering beside Antony. “Tonight we feast to the triumph of our Iron Man!” He reached out, grabbing Antony's wrist and lifting his hand. “The greatest Iron Man in the land!”

 

The fliers around them all cheered and whistled, applauding Antony enthusiastically.

 

Stevyn lowered their hands and caught Antony's gaze.

 

“You have outdone yourself, Iron Man, and I was wrong about the armour.”

 

“Sorry, what was that?” Antony said insufferably, cupping his ear and tipping it towards Stevyn. “Did I just hear what I thought I heard?”

 

Stevyn rolled his eyes, but he was man enough to say; “I said I was wrong.”

 

Antony threw his head back and laughed.

 

“Music to my ears!”

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Stevyn was once more dressed for victory. It seemed appropriate. He thought there couldn't be a bigger victory than that which Antony had produced over Buk's injury.

 

He met Buk heading to the feasting hall, and was enormously pleased to see the grin that was spread across his face. He'd half thought he'd never see it like that again. Buk was wearing the arm, its strapping hidden under his clothes and its metal joints filling his sleeve. It was almost as if he'd not injured himself at all.

 

“Brues told you to take that off,” Stevyn said, but he was grinning as he fell into step with his friend.

 

“I am aware,” Buk said. “But it hardly hurts at all.”

 

Stevyn was almost certain that was just because he was so excited to have it, and he would pay for it later.

 

“It could re-open your wounds,” he tried.

 

“I am not leaning into it now. It only rubs when I use it on Akeeta. I shan't do that again for some time.”

 

Stevyn eyed him.

 

“Why don't I believe you?”

 

“Because I live to fly, and you know it's a lie,” Buk said, smirking.

 

“Hmm...” Stevyn mused. “Perhaps I shall inform the Nest you are grounded until I say otherwise.”

 

“It might be best,” Buk agreed, surprising Stevyn. “Otherwise I should be up there every second sunset.”

 

Stevyn laughed and clapped him on the back.

 

“Done. I will give the order, until you can use it without slowing your healing.”

 

Buk nodded.

 

“It will be best,” he said again.

 

Stevyn smiled and looped an arm around his shoulders.

 

“In the meantime-”

 

“Ale and dancing!” Buk finished for him, his grin returning full force.

 

He was right. There were barrels and barrels of ale and hours of dancing. It was late into the night and most of those remaining were the warriors. Natya held her own, and was already making fast friends with Marian, something which Stevyn was a little wary of.

 

He had avoided Antony for the evening, knowing that drink and merriment would make it harder yet to resist. But suddenly, someone was yelling.

 

“Chiefson! Dance with the Iron Man!”

 

Someone else caught up the cry, and another, until they were all clamouring for it. Before he knew it, Antony had been thrust into his arms and they were dancing, close and tight and his hands caught at Antony's waist, and Antony's caught at his shoulders.

 

“A triumph,” Stevyn said, low and hot. “Didn't I tell you?”

 

“Aye,” Antony said, a smile tugging at his mouth. It faded a little, however, when his gaze flickered to Natya and back again. “Is she pleasing to you, Chiefson?”

 

Stevyn's movements faltered a little as his gaze followed Antony's own.

 

“...Aye,” he said uncertainly. “I find her to be charming and strong.”

 

Antony nodded, his fingers shifting in the thick red-white-and-blue feathers about the collar of Stevyn's victory cloak.

 

“Good,” he said a little distantly. “That is good.”

 

Stevyn frowned at him, surprised by this comment.

 

“Good?” he echoed.

 

“I wish that you had told me,” Antony said, his ire dimmed either by re-thinking or by ale. “But I do not wish that you be miserable, in your future with the Aisuan Chiefsdaughter.”

 

Stevyn's fingers fisted a little in Antony's clothes, clutching at him. He didn't want to think about his future with the Aisuan Chiefsdaughter. Not with Antony warm and sinuous in his arms, their bodies moving to the merrimakers' song.

 

“I will be miserable,” he replied before he really considered the comment.

 

Antony chuckled.

 

“But you have said you find her charming and strong.”

 

“Aye. But I find you-”

 

A gong sounded. It was the heavy one suspended at one end of the feasting hall, and it was none other than Buk sounding it, grinning from ear to ear and far too full with drink. Brues, who stood nearby, looked beside himself with frustration, anger and worry all bound up together. The rest of the hall let out a cheer when Buk raised his new arm by way of lifting it with the other.

 

“To our Cheifson and Iron Man, who have brought about peace and a miracle all in one day!”

 

The gathering erupted in ecstatic cheering and, by the time Stevyn turned back, Antony had already slipped off into the crowd and he did not find him again that night.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“...and Antony have become quite close, aye?”

 

Stevyn tried to make a point of not eavesdropping on the conversations of nearby bathers because it was terribly bad form and people seemed to forgot how close they actually were to others, wreathed in steam and feeling they were cocooned. But even he wasn't perfect and Antony's name always drew his attention.

 

“Aye!” was the laughing answer. “I shouldn't be surprised if they declare their intent to Bond within the next cycle of seasons!”

 

Stevyn's blood ran cold at the very thought as the group tittered and laughed before an oh-so-familiar voice broke across their merriment.

 

“That is how stories get started, my friends.”

 

A welcoming chorus rose out of the laughter and Stevyn wanted badly to join them.

 

“Aye. Idle chatter becomes taken as absolute truth soon enough,” added a second voice Stevyn couldn't quite place so it had to be Rodan.

 

“Is it?” someone asked.

 

“Is what?” Antony wondered, amusement threading his teasing voice.

 

“Absolute truth?”

 

Antony didn't answer, but he must have shrugged or grinned or smirked or one of those because the group broke out in a chorus of teasing and laughter.

 

Stevyn sank lower in the water, feeling upset and angry – terribly jealous, if he was willing to admit it. And although he wasn't willing, that didn't stop his _knowing_ it. And the knowing hurt.

 

He did his best to stop listening to the group, closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the edge of the pool. If there were any tears no one would know it in the starlight and steam.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“Terribly rude to listen in on someone else's conversation.”

 

Stevyn jerked, slipping lower in the water and realised he must have somehow dozed off. The pools were quiet, almost silent. There seemed to be no one about.

 

No one, that was, save for Antony Iron Man.

 

“I was not,” Stevyn lied, scowling at him.

 

“No indeed?” Antony asked, arching a brow.

 

“No,” was Stevyn's agitated reply. Antony let the silence stretch thick and pregnant with their shared knowledge of the Chiefson's lie until Stevyn finally snapped; “Well, is it true?”

 

“What?” Antony asked infuriatingly.

 

“You know.”

 

“No, I think not. You did not listen, so you say.”

 

Stevyn scowled at him again but he only laughed, shifting his weight easily from one foot to the other, muscle flexing and glimmering with clinging dew in the starlight.

 

“I did,” Stevyn finally admitted. “But not purposefully.”

 

“Of _course_ not, Chiefson,” Antony said. “Of course not.” Then his smile fell away. “It is no business of yours whether it be true or no.”

 

He was right, of course. Stevyn knew it intellectually but that didn't stop his gut reaction.

 

“Is it true, though?” he demanded.

 

Antony snorted and turned away, unfolding his arms and beginning to stride off.

 

Angry, frustrated, upset, Stevyn lunged up out of the water, snatching him about the waist, and hauled him back into the water with a splash.

 

They broke the surface sputtering and Antony glared at Stevyn.

 

“Stevyn. I do not have time to-”

 

“Antony. Please. Is it true?”

 

Antony opened his mouth to answer but Stevyn was suddenly in his lap, knees to either side of him as he pushed him back against the rock wall of the spring. Stevyn's face was close and his open mouth shook against Antony's with a slow exhale, carrying further words.

 

“Do not answer. I care not.”

 

“Stevyn,” Antony said, his voice sounding far less like the warning growl he'd intended and far more like desperation. “Cease this at once.”

 

“I cannot,” Stevyn whispered and kissed him, and clearly Antony could not either, for he kissed him back.

 

“Stop. Chiefson. Stop this minute,” Antony said between hungry kisses when he could get his tongue back.

 

“I should if you will,” Stevyn replied against his lips, their ragged, harsh breathing mingling between their hungry mouths.

 

Antony made a low, keening sound, like something wounded and helpless and angry all at once.

 

“I cannot!” he snarled, the anger in the words punctuated by the harsh press of his strong hands working up either side of Stevyn's spine to pull him closer.

 

They spoke no more on the rights or wrongs of it, on what they should or should not do.

 

Stevyn kissed him like his head was under the water and Antony his only source of air and the Iron Man was powerless to do aught but return each kiss in kind. Their hands pawed through the steaming water, remapping muscle and flesh, clutching and clawing.

 

Stevyn dragged his mouth down the column of Antony's throat when he tipped his head back on a chest-deep groan and Antony mouthed at Stevyn's chest when he arched.

 

“Antony...” Stevyn breathed, the first syllable more a sigh than anything else.

 

Antony smiled up at him and Stevyn couldn't help but smile back, his fingers carding through Antony's dark, soaking hair.

 

“Naught,” he said, his free hand sliding between them to wrap around both of them.

 

Antony purred and one of his hands sank beneath the water to join it, their fingers lacing together. Stevyn hadn't realised how much he'd missed the calloused familiarity of those hands until now. How much he craved it.

 

“Antony...” he said again his voice aching.

 

Antony's eyes were soft and sad when he leaned up to kiss Stevyn tenderly a gentle, “Shh...” riding his exhale as he brought their mouths together.

 

Steven's own eyes slipped closed and he began to rock his hips into Antony's their earlier frenetic pace slowed to a steady grind against one another that soon had them both moaning and gasping into each other's mouths.

 

It seemed far too soon that it ended and Stevyn collapsed against Antony, panting, one arm curling around him tightly. He didn't want to move, didn't want to face the world where he couldn't have this forever.

 

“...It is not true,” Antony said into the silence when they'd both stopped panting. “But... I think it could be. Eventually.”

 

Stevyn tensed, his hand twitching against Antony's spine.

 

“You cannot.”

 

Antony sighed.

 

“I shan't spend my life pining away for you, Chiefson,” he said matter-of-factly. “You are Bonding with Natya and even this is... It should not have happened. Ever will I sin with you if I cannot find solace elsewhere.”

 

“Then sin,” Stevyn growled.

 

Antony pushed him back, eyes narrow.

 

“You do not mean that. Neither of us are men who would be so dishonest.”

 

Stevyn said nothing, only gestured to them and the pool at large, indicating what had just happened.

 

“No, Stevyn,” Antony said. “This will not happen again, least of all when you are Bonded, and you know it.”

 

Stevyn glared at him, trying to think of argument, but they both knew he didn't have one. He had been raised a honourable Chiefson and even now creeping guilt wound in his gut. As Antony calmly met his gaze he eventually sighed and looked away.

 

“Aye,” he whispered. “And I... much as the less civilised parts of myself should like nothing better than to find Rodan and punch him in the face-” Antony chuckled. “-I know you are right. It should be unfair of me to behave so.”

 

“Unfair, aye,” Antony agreed. “But I understand completely...”

 

Stevyn drifted close again and kissed him gently. He didn't protest, but he ended it quickly.

 

“We should go, Chiefson, before someone happens upon us.”

 

“Aye,” Stevyn whispered, dragging his nose through Antony's hair. “Aye, we should.”

 

They lingered longer though as the stars wheeled overhead, tracking the passing of the night. If anyone did chance across them, they didn't make themselves known. They finally pried themselves apart when the sun began to track pink fingers through the velvet darkness.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Buk was slowly healing, another forty-odd sunsets seeing more flesh knit back together. Brues still made unhappy noises whenever he saw the man doing anything other than lying around in bed, which was virtually always. Buk wasn't exactly the stay-in-bed type. It didn't help that he and Klinte had become immediate friends and the Aisuan had spent the entirety of the evening meal goading Buk into a sparring match, which all the warriors had rolled down to the arena to watch.

 

Even left-handed and still somewhat hampered by the injury, he was a formidable foe. He and Klinte were battling back and forth across the arena amidst many catcalls and shouted advice.

 

Klinte had the better of him, but it was relatively easy for all of them to see it wouldn't be that way if Buk didn't have to be constantly aware of his injury. Eventually, during a particularly swift exchange of blows, Klinte twitched Buk's blade out of his hand and it flew out of reach.

 

“I yield,” Buk said immediately, panting through his grin. “Well fought.”

 

They clasped arms, grinning, and the warriors gathered around applauded.

 

Marian gave Natya's shoulder a shove.

 

“It must be Natya's turn!” she called. “She being the newest member of our clutch! We must see her skills!”

 

The group cheered their agreement and Marian shoved Natya out into the arena.

 

“But who shall face her?” Buk called.

 

“Chiefson!” they all responded without hesitation. Then they fell to chanting; “Chief. Son! Chief. Son! Chief. Son!”

 

“Alright, alright,” he said like it was a chore, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

 

It quickly became apparent Natya was very good. She was quicker than Stevyn and just as clever but he was stronger, so it made for a very even bout. They tested each other's reactions and movements and neither of them made any really effort at an attack to begin with. Then they circled, each one wary and unwilling to be the one to strike first.

 

Stevyn's patience ran out first and he leapt towards her, his blade arcing through the air and down towards her head, an obvious move which she easily blocked. But he'd already known that would happen. That she used her free hand to support one end of the blade was all the better for him as he drove his free hand into her unprotected side in a fist.

 

The air left her in a whuff and she leapt back a step or two out of his reach while she gathered it and he smirked at her. He flipped his blade once in his hand and she growled a little then came at him this time. At the last minute, she dropped, kicking out towards his legs.

 

He jumped awkwardly to avoid it, but still staggered a little and had to hastily and sloppily bring his blade up to parry her forward thrust. He didn't jump back but pressed towards her, and they exchanged blows, seemingly taking turns to strike and defend.

 

Again she suddenly dropped and kicked out towards his legs, but this time he wasn't fast enough to avoid it and fell over backwards. She slashed down towards him and he lifted his blade to defend, again and again, until he took a leaf from her own book and caught her ankle, tugging hard.

 

She fell, landing atop him with a grunt.

 

They were panting and her eyes were alight with the excitement of their bout. In that moment, he found her very beautiful indeed. He rolled her onto her back and pinned her there, his blade at her throat.

 

She growled a little, but went lax.

 

“I yield,” she said.

 

He grinned ear to ear... and kissed her.

 

It was nice. It certainly wasn't the worst kiss he'd ever had. In fact it was quite good – she was not unskilled in the least. One of his hands slid into her fiery hair and he drew her head up a little to deepen the kiss.

 

When Stevyn looked up, he saw all those gathered cheering and clapping, grinning foolish grins and clearly happy for him.

 

All bar one, who was leaving, the buckles of his blacksmithing apron glinting as they caught the light, the dark-skinned Aisuan at his side.

 

Steve's mouth twitched down, but soon his clutch was gathered around him, singing the praises of both he and Natya and exclaiming how beautiful their eventual babies would be.

 

“I think it's a little soon to be talking about that,” Natya said with a grin, saving Stevyn from having to say the same. It was all a little like a dream, actually. He felt sort of detached from it, as though it weren't his life and some sort of puppet was in his place.

 

He wiped his brow with the back of his forearm and smiled and nodded at what he hoped were appropriate times. He was only too glad when Natya excused them with a laugh and they headed back to the Chief's home.

 

They reached her chambers first and both sort of hovered at the door until Stevyn cupped her elbow and drew her into another kiss. It lingered longer than the one in the arena and she let him taste her and tasted him in return. Then they broke apart and she smiled up at him.

 

“It was a good bout, Chiefson. Thank you... for recognising _all_ my strengths, not just the ones that suit you.”

 

“I see no reason why a warrior's heart should not suit me,” he replied and her smile broadened.

 

“It does not suit some,” she replied.

 

He frowned.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I am Chiefsdaughter.”

 

His frown deepened. No one was held to any expectations in Renevaar dependent on their gender or birth circumstances. It was the same in all clans, so far as he knew, but it seemed he might have been wrong.

 

“Is anyone else... _expected_ to be or do something just because of their parents?” he wondered. Expected was the only word he could think of to convey the idea.

 

“Oh, no,” Natya said, a bitterness creeping into her tone. “The daughter or son of the fishmonger may choose to learn tailoring or blacksmithing or join the clutches. The daughter or son of the record keepers may learn to be a record keeper, or not. He or she may choose to become a grower or candlemaker or gryphealer. But not I. I am Chiefsdaughter and I have obligations. I should not be out fighting, lest my life is ended and there is no one to take up the mantle of Chief.”

 

“My father has chosen who should be Chief if my life is ended,” Stevyn said in confusion.

 

“My mother has a different opinion.”

 

“Yet now you are here, to bond to me, so who will be Chief of Aisua?”

 

“You,” she replied.

 

He shook his head.  
  
“You, if it is to be,” he replied. “But neither of us can oversee Aisua from here. It is five days' flying even on the swiftest gryph.”

 

“Then we shall choose a Chiefsecond.”

 

“A good one, I should hope, for you would make a spectacular Chief.”

 

She smiled.

 

“Flattery is unnecessary, Chiefson. You already have me.”

 

“That makes it more necessary, for am I not obligated to please my Chiefsbound?” He grinned when she laughed. “Besides, it pleases me to see you smile.”

 

“Thank you, Chiefson.”

 

“I think perhaps you should use my name, as we are promised,” he said, his mouth twitching in amusement.

 

“Aye, you might have the right of that,” she said, then as she opened her door; “Good night, Chiefson.”

 

They were both laughing as she closed it.

 

Stevyn's mirth began to fade as he wandered back to his own chambers and by the time his hand rested on the door, it was gone entirely.

 

Nice. That was what it was. Just... _nice_.

 

He liked her well enough. They'd be fast friends, he was sure. And she was beautiful and strong and skilled. But he didn't want her. Not intensely. Not desperately. Not like...

 

He shoved his hand through his hair with a growl and pushed away from the door. He couldn't bear the thought of resting. His skin felt... itchy or too tight and he didn't know what to do about it. Only maybe he knew what he _wanted_ to do, because without his conscious direction, his feet carried him to the Iron Man's forge.

 

Stevyn couldn't quite tell what Antony was working on from the angle he came into the forge because the Iron Man had his back to him, muscle flexing in his sweat-damp arms as he brought his hammer down on whatever it was over and over again. As usual, immediate heat gathered in his belly, so much more than _nice_.

 

“Antony?” he said.

 

Antony twitched, his fingers tight around the handle of the hammer where it had settled on the metal he was working.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“...You...” Stevyn admitted, his very tone saying what they both knew – that he shouldn't be here, and that he couldn't have that. They had already given in that night in the springs and they could not do so again.

 

“Go away, Stevyn. You are promised to the Aisuan Chiefsdaughter and our very peace rests upon your bonding. Who am I and who are you to destroy that?”

 

He was right. He was _completely_ right, but Stevyn couldn't bear the thought of never touching him again.

 

“I do not want to bond with Natya. You are the only one I want to be bonded to.”

 

He hadn't planned on saying the words. He hadn't even realised he wanted to say them, but as soon as they were out of his mouth, he knew they were true.

 

Antony turned to him, his expression shattered.

 

“Do not do this to me, Chiefson,” he said tightly. “It is unfair and hurts me deeply to hear you say that. You are _promised_ , Stevyn.”

 

“I will not bond with her,” Stevyn replied, his voice hitching embarrassingly in the middle. “I shan't do it. My father cannot force this upon me.”

 

Antony gestured with a hand, his words spat harshly between his teeth.

 

“He already has, Stevyn. This is an agreement struck between your father and the Chief of Aisua. Neither of you can go against it. He could banish you.”

 

“But you would come with me,” Stevyn said, advancing on Antony and bracketing him against the anvil, his hands pressing against it to either side of Antony's hips. “And that is all that matters.”

 

“I would _not_ ,” Antony growled. “I shouldn't ask you to give up your position for my sake and I expect the same courtesy. Go from me, Stevyn Chiefson, lest someone catches us.”

 

“Let them,” Stevyn said lowly and kissed him, hungry and hard.

 

Antony pushed him away and he staggered back, the rebuttal shocking and painful emotionally rather than physically.

 

“The only time it's alright to touch another person when you're bonded is for the sake of making a child. We have already sinned once,” Antony hissed, as though Stevyn didn't already know that.

 

“I'm not bonded.”

 

“As good as,” Antony snapped. “Get out of my forge, Chiefson, or I _will_ chase you out.”

 

Stevyn hesitated for a long moment, then changed his mind and left, his hands fisted at his sides.

 

He kicked at the cobbles as he stalked back up the mountainside home, but when he got there, he didn't want to be there, so he stalked off again. He was still storming around when the sun rose, trying to sort through his chaotic thoughts.

 

He almost wished there would be an attack, so he could expend some of his energy violently.

 

He had no such luck. All that happened was that warriors began to wander up to the feasting hall for breakfast, and labourers and craftsmen and women began lighting fires for their own meal.

 

Exhaustion hit him all of a sudden and he dragged himself home, stripped and threw himself into his furs, no closer to an answer than he had been when he left the Iron Man's forge.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

The longer things went on, the more certain Stevyn became that no matter how good it was for Renevaar, bonding with Natya was not good for him. He didn't think it was good for her either. She was as stand-offish as he felt. They kissed often, but neither of them tried for anything more. He certainly wasn't the shy type and she didn't seem it either but they were both holding back, though neither of them talked about it.

 

Stevyn felt angry and frustrated most of the time, trapped by his father and mother's decision. No one arranged bondings any more. He thought there had to be some other way to assure a firm relationship between Renevaar and Aisua, whether it was trading or mutual warrior support or something else.

 

He didn't see Antony often – the Iron Man was keeping away from him – but he was currently armouring all the gryphs in the primary attack clutches, so their paths did cross. Whenever he saw him, he wished he could proclaim his intent to bond and promise himself to Antony, if he would have him. It only increased his frustration and he had to concentrate hard not to be cold to Natya.

 

But it was getting harder and harder, and they were drawing closer and closer to the bonding day their respective Chiefs and Chiefsbonded had chosen.

 

One afternoon, following a flight he had taken Natya on and another drawn-out process of kissing that lead to nothing, he knew he had to try and convince his father and mother this wasn't the way to go.

 

They were in his mother's painting room when he found them. She was a prolific painter, creating patterned materials the Renevaaran hung from their walls, landscapes and pictures of people and animals and gryphs. She also worked with Antony sometimes, painting his jewellery and armour before they had it lacquered by other craftsmen.

 

The room was lit by a huge skylight which his father had had made for her as their bonding gift. Stevyn heard tell it had taken fifteen experts to make the huge window and twenty men to lift it into place and fix it there. It was routinely checked to make certain its weight wasn't bringing down the roof and that it was still safe.

 

Currently, she was painting a picture of Natya and the peacock gryph. Stevyn hid the face he felt like pulling. She should be painted with K'vriri, not that prancing thing. It was causing all sorts of problems in the clutch, too, posturing and preening, but backing up none of it when the other gryphs challenged it. K'vriri, meanwhile, had quickly found her spot, as had the gryphons of the rest of Natya's escort, the flock settling around them quickly.

 

“Good morning, Stevyn,” his mother said without looking over. His father saluted him with the mug he was holding.

 

“Good morning,” Stevyn said to both of them, dropping to one knee with his fist to his heart. His father gestured him to his feet again.

 

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” his mother asked, her mouth twitching in amusement.

 

“I wish to discuss Natya with you,” he said without preamble.

 

They both looked at him and his father arched a brow.

 

“What you mean is: you wish to discuss the arranged bonding,” he said knowingly.

 

Stevyn didn't back down from it. He'd chosen to be direct and he wasn't about to sidestep now.

 

“Aye. It is archaic, father. No one arranges bondings any more and I do not believe it is going to please either of us.”

 

“We have seen you together,” his mother pointed out. “You seemed happy enough.”

 

“Happy enough, yes I suppose,” Stevyn said in exasperation. “But that's all. She is a fine woman, a fine warrior and strong Chiefsdaughter, but I do not desire her.”

 

“How can you not?” his father asked, both brows shooting up now. “She is very beautiful.”

 

“Aye,” Stevyn agreed. “But I...” Now he did hesitate and was immediately ashamed of his apparent fear at admitting how he felt about Antony. It was only a moment's silence, but his mother spoke into it.

 

“Is there another, Stevyn...?”

 

Bless her. She always could get straight to the heart of a matter.

 

“Aye, Mother,” he said softly.

 

They both frowned, exchanging glances.

 

“Long have you been free with the company you bring to your furs, but never have you lingered long with any of them. Think you we care if this bonding upsets your carefree nature?” his father said tightly.

 

“No, Father,” Stevyn said hastily, abashed. “There is another I wish to be bonded with.”

 

They both stared at him, aghast.

 

“ _You_?” his mother asked like she couldn't fathom it. He didn't blame her. His father was right about his carefree nature when it came to sharing his furs.

 

“Aye,” he said softly.

 

They were both silent for so long he began to fidget, picking at the edge of one of the fingerless gloves he was wearing.

 

“Who?” his mother finally asked.

 

He refused to hesitate and instead said instantly and strongly; “Antony.”

 

“The _Iron Man_?” she exclaimed in disbelief. “You two have never gotten on.”

 

He shrugged.

 

“We're getting on better now,” he said with a hint of a smirk.

 

“This is not a joke, Chiefson,” his father said warningly.

 

“I am not joking. I do not wish to bond with Natya, because I would rather do so with Antony.”

 

“And he?”

 

Stevyn grimaced a little.

 

“He... is upset because I approached him about it after I was already promised to Natya. He-”

 

“Then he does not desire it? You must follow through, Stevyn. You will bond with Natya.”

 

“No, it is not that he does not des-” Stevyn tried to explain, but his father cut across him again.

 

“You will bond with Natya,” he said again. “I will hear no more about it. This business with the Iron Man is done. Even if he did desire it, you must serve your people.”

 

Stevyn's hands fisted, his eyes flashing.

 

“This is not the only way. I am fast friends with Natya and her companions. Surely that is enough. Surely we can promise to send warriors to aid them if they have need of it without needing to join the two clans through bonding!”

 

“Stevyn, your father has said he will hear no more and I agree. You shall not consider this bonding with the Iron Man. Only with Natya.”

 

“But I-” he started.

 

“No more. It is three sunsets hence. You shall do as is required.”

 

“But, Mother-”

 

“ _No more_.”

 

“You are dismissed, Chiefson,” his father added.

 

“But I cannot-”

 

“It is your duty, Stevyn,” his father reminded him. “What you cannot do is back away from it. You must face it. Good day, my son.”

 

“Father, I-”

 

“We have spoken on this before. I am your Chief and you will do as I tell you, or you will be handed down a fit punishment for your lack of respect.”

 

Stevyn fell silent, his jaw set and ticking.

 

“Aye, Chief,” he said tightly and turned on his heel, marching stiffly out of the room.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

It was not Natya's fault that Stevyn did not feel strongly about her. Before Antony, he would have been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She was strong and beautiful and stubborn. She would have provided him a chase he would have enjoyed.

 

As it was, however, his feet dragged as he headed towards her chambers to take her flying again and he was trying desperately to buck up for her.

 

His steps quickened when he heard a cry from behind her door and he was about to push it open when some instinct or some sound gave him pause. Instead he leaned in, straining his ears to hear within.

 

“...n't be here!” Natya was saying, sounding upset. “I should better have left you in Aisua!”

 

“Yet do you know I would have followed you regardless,” said another voice, one of the Aisuan. Steven wasn't sure which, except he knew well enough it was not Rodan.

 

“I must do this,” Natya said and Stevyn heard her boots crossing the floor in agitated pacing.

 

“Why must you? Think you it will not be possible now for us to convince our Chief we are better to be friends with Renevaar instead of attacking her? We have made friends here and besides we cannot best them, no matter how many of them we bring down. Look at Buk. One of ours took his arm, yet will he still be joining the fight. How can we hope to-”

 

“Exactly!” Natya snapped, strained and unhappy. “We cannot hope to best them, so I _must_ do this. For the sake of our people." Her voice broke, fading almost to a whisper on the final word and for a moment there was nothing he could hear.

 

"Natya... please do not cry."

 

Stevyn's grip on the door handle tightened so much he fancied he could hear the wood creaking. With a roll of his shoulders, he knocked on the door.

 

There was a hitched breath from within, then; "A minute!"

 

But he didn't give her one. He knew what he would find anyway. Well, mostly. He pushed open the door to see Klinte half-way into her clothing chest. He was wide-eyed and sheepish-looking and Stevyn found it - probably inappropriately - _hysterical_.

 

He began to laugh.

 

Natya clapped her hand to her mouth, her eyes as wide as Klinte's, and eventually began to try and stammer explanations until Stevyn came over and put his hands on her shoulders.

 

"Hush," he said firmly.

 

She fell silent, eyes searching his, but only for about thirty seconds before she said; "It is not what it seems, Chiefson. I did not mean-"

 

" _Hush_ ," he said again, shaking his head. "I understand."

 

She blinked at him, mouth snapping shut and Klinte wobbled where he was still balanced on one leg, halfway into the chest.

 

"I was not-" he started.

 

"Get out of the chest, Klinte," Stevyn said dryly and Klinte hastened to do so, for which all three of them were glad because it seemed only a matter of time before he would have fallen over.

 

"I am sorry, Chiefson," he began again, twisting his hands together. "I should not have come here."

 

"But you could not help yourself," Stevyn said knowingly.

 

"...I could not," Klinte affirmed, his eyes drifting to Natya. Her gaze would not settle on him, but it flicked to him and away again, glanced off him and drifted back again. She could not help herself either.

 

"I understand," Stevyn said softly. "This is a travesty."

 

"I am sorry, Chiefson, I did not plan-" Natya cried in the same moment as Klinte said; "It was entirely my f-"

 

" _Be silent_ ," Stevyn growled and they both held their tongues, exchanging a glance despite themselves. "I did not mean... this," he finished as he gestured between them.

 

They looked back at him, Natya frowning deeply.

 

"Then what _do_ you mean?" she asked in confusion.

 

"You and I. Perhaps we need to be honest, hm?"

 

She flushed, looking guiltily down.

 

"I had no intention of creeping about secretively," she said. "I would never have done that to you."

 

"Yet have you," Steven pointed out and put up a hand when she moved to argue the point. "And so have I. It is neither of our faults. You are a fast friend, Natya, and I hope you should say the same of me, but I do not desire you nor do I wish to be bonded to you. Can you say any different?"

 

She blinked at him, her mouth opening and closing a few times, then finally dropped her gaze and shook her head. Unknowingly, she reached out for Klinte and he curled his fingers into hers.

 

"I do not see how our mutual... misery... for lack of a better word, can help the villages. An unhappy Chief and Chiefsbound could speak a people's doom more easily than their salvation."

 

"Aye, but... I cannot talk to my mother, and I feel it safe to assume you have attempted to talk to your parents?"

 

"Aye," Stevyn muttered.

 

"Then what are we to do?”

 

Stevyn folded his muscled arms, looking between Klinte and Natya and thinking of Antony. He narrowed his eyes in thought.

 

“You say you cannot speak to your mother… have you tried?”

 

Natya curled her lip.

 

“Many, many times. She does not let me take the warrior’s path. She-”

 

“Aye, you have said,” he agreed, lifting a hand from the opposite forearm. “But have you spoken to her about him?” He pointed at Klinte who lifted his hands and took a step back like he was afraid Stevyn was going to attack him then and there.

 

She hesitated, then; “Nay, but it-”

 

“It is the only option,” Stevyn cut across her mercilessly. “My parents will not be swayed from this idea. Unless we can convince your mother and she approaches _them_ with a different treaty, they will not consider it.

 

“You do not know my mother,” she said miserably. “She is duty and obligation before all else.”

 

Stevyn opened his mouth, but Klinte beat him to it.

 

“What else have we left to try, Natya?”

 

She glanced at him, jaw twitching as she tried to fathom an answer. Of course she had none.

 

“So… what? We take K’vriri and Leialak and Ka’a and just… go?”

 

“Well, unless you would like to take Reh’la’lai,” Klinte teased.

 

“Oh by the gods. That bird. Not a chance,” she said dryly.

 

The men laughed.

 

“K’vriri is going to gut him one day, I swear it,” she added.

 

“Not if one of our gryphs does it instead,” Stevyn replied, renewed with energy now they had a plan.

 

“And will you bring the Iron Man?” Klinte asked.

 

Stevyn looked sharply at him.

 

“The Iron Man? No, why should I?”

 

“I am an archer. I see much, Cheifson. I know the reason you are not so angry with us. I know it is him.”

 

Stevyn hesitated, eyes skating across the floor but settling on nothing. “I will not be bringing him. He is… busy…”

 

“Oh. _Busy_ ,” Klinte said, a smirk curving the corner of his mouth. “Or are you scared he will turn you down?”

 

“I am _not_ scared,” Stevyn growled predictably.

 

“He must be very angry, to be able to turn you down,” Natya chipped in.

 

“He will _not_ turn me down!” Stevyn turned on his heel and marched out of the room. “I will find you at the Nests in two candlemarks.”

 

They exchanged a glance and smirked.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“Sit still, fool creature!” Antony groused good-naturedly, wresting a breastplate onto Akeeta while she shimmied and puffed up and generally made the job difficult.

 

Buk was watching with amusement, making no move to help. When Antony called him on it, he gestured to his arm. “Brues said nothing physical.”

 

Antony muttered some choice curses in his direction. They both knew Akeeta was obedient to a fault - Buck wouldn’t allow anything less - and he would hardly have to get physical to make her do as Antony wished.

 

“Enjoying the show?” Stevyn wondered as he entered the stall.

 

“You have no idea,” Buk said, smirking.

 

Akeeta gave a happy kree at sight of him and walked straight over Antony, who was unbalanced by the act of reaching down to fasten one of the buckles. He ended up sprawled on his back as she half-bounded over to Stevyn to beak at his hair, warbling in her throat.

 

“Thrice-cursed bird,” Antony muttered, rolling to all fours.

 

Bucky laughed merrily as Akeeta draped herself on Stevyn and he, too, ended up on the ground, the entire weight of a gryphon’s upper half too much for even him to stand under.

 

“Akeeta!” he gruffed, pushing at her feathery chest. “It has not been so long since you have seen me!”

 

“She seems to think otherwise,” Buk said idly as the gryphon made pleased chirruping sounds and groomed Stevyn’s hair, pulling half of it free of its neat braid. He gave up pushing at her since it was completely pointless and lay grouchily beneath her instead until Buk relented. “Up, Akeeta. Up.”

 

She stood, stretching out her wings and resettling them, looking arrogantly between the three men.

 

“I see why you two get on so well,” Antony said wryly as he came over to fasten the last strap.

 

“We have an understanding,” Buk said, pushing off the wall he’d been leaning against to stride across and stroke Akeeta’s feathers. “It fits well.” He ran his fingers around the edges of the breastplate.

 

“Of course,” Antony said.

 

Stevyn stood and brushed himself off. “Antony,” he said. “May I speak to you momentarily?”

 

Antony eyed him and glanced at Buk. “Speak?” he echoed as his gaze turned back to Stevyn. “Is that all?”

 

“Aye,” Stevyn said firmly.

 

Antony gestured to Akeeta. “I am very busy.”

 

“I know… just a moment. Please.”

 

Antony let out a long breath and allowed Stevyn to lead him out of the stable. “How may I help you, Chiefson?” he wondered dryly.

 

“I am going to Aisua,” Stevyn said abruptly.

 

Antony arched a brow. “For what purpose?”

 

“To argue our case there. My parents will not listen and I have discovered Natya has no more desire to be bonded to me than I to her.”

 

“Oh?” Antony’s voice was careless.

 

“Do you wish to come?” Stevyn asked calmly, refusing to let Antony under his skin.

 

Antony blinked, breaking the illusion of being unconcerned.

 

“Me?”

 

“I can think of no one else I need to present to the Aisuan Chief as the reason I do not wish to bond with her daughter.”

 

“Why does she not wish to bond with you?” Antony asked in lieu of answering. “It is… a good match.”

 

“Klinte.”

 

“Of course,” he said like something he’d been confused about for a long while suddenly made perfect sense.

 

“So we are going to Aisua, the three of us, to speak to Natya’s mother.”

 

“Speak to your own parents,” Antony suggested.

 

“I have tried. They will not listen. We are hoping she will listen, and come to my parents with a different truce.”

 

“And if she does not?”

 

“I will not bond with Natya,” Stevyn said tightly. “I will leave Renevaar before that will happen.”

 

“I will not go with you if you leave Renevaar. You are a fool to throw away your life so.”

 

“Then I am a fool,” Stevyn said. “I cannot live nearby you and not have you in my furs.”

 

Antony frowned, searching his gaze. “Honestly?” he asked.

 

Stevyn nodded. “Will you come to Aisua?”

 

“I am armouring all the-”

 

“Please. Antony. My Iron Man. Please come and plead our case with me.”

 

Antony huffed and looked away. He was silent for a long time. “You are foolish and reckless… Someone must go with you to ensure you do not get yourself killed. Very well. Let me take the breastplate off Akeeta, and we will go.”

 

When they got back inside, Buk was already holding out the plate.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

They didn’t bring much. Both Antony and Stevyn had been concerned about that when Natya said they wouldn’t need anything in the way of supplies. It was a long tip after all. But it turned out Klinte could pinpoint game from gryphback and bring it down with a single shot. He was the best archer Stevyn had ever seen and he was surprised more Renevaaran hadn’t fallen to him.

 

“It is harder during a fight,” Klinte demurred when he broached the topic. “Your own people are wrapped together with the enemy and if your timing is only slightly off, you can put an arrow through a friend or, worse, a friend’s gryph. Their wings move so quickly it is easily done.”

 

“Speaking from experience?” Antony wondered.

 

“Aye. And not a pleasant one at that,” Klinte replied. “But I have come to peace with it and I have never repeated it.”

 

“Something like that would be hard to come to peace with,” Stevyn mused.

 

“Extremely,” Klinte agreed darkly and neither of them pushed him further on it.

 

They were sitting around a fire, Klinte’s latest kill spitted above it while they talked. The gryphs were picketed together a short distance away and had tucked themselves together in a feathered pile so it was hard to pick each one out.

 

“How much further?” Antony asked curiously from his seat beside Stevyn.

 

Natya was leaning into Klinte, relaxed against his side, but Antony was maintaining a frustrating distance from Stevyn. It was probably only the width of one person, but it was enough to drive Stevyn to distraction. And he would not reciprocate when the Chiefson tried to touch or kiss him. Stevyn couldn’t work out if he was just enjoying it, or if it was because all of this was still so uncertain. It was hard, but he tried to give Antony the benefit of the doubt and assume the latter.

 

“We should arrive sometime the day after tomorrow,” Natya replied.

 

“Aye, this territory is familiar,” Klinte agreed. “We may come across scouts tomorrow.”

 

“We should, if they are doing their job,” Natya said darkly.

 

Klinte chuckled. “Worry not, my love. I am certain they should not desire to incur your wrath.”

 

“They would assume I was not coming back.”

 

“They would still be afraid of your wrath-from-afar,” Klinte said.

 

She thumped him but he only laughed and gathered her in for a kiss.

 

“I see why you cannot bond with her,” Antony said softly, so as not to intrude on their private moment.

 

“Aye,” Stevyn agreed, turning his eyes to Antony instead. “But I knew I could not before I found out about Klinte.”

 

Antony’s gaze was inscrutable in the firelight, even the turn of his mouth obscured by flickering shadows.

 

“I cannot hope, Stevyn,” he said eventually. “I have already suffered at your hands for hope.”

 

Stevyn’s brows drew down, hurt written across his features. “I have told you I am sorry for that. I was afraid to tell you. I wanted you too much and I did not want to lose you.”

 

“The whole time, Chiefson, you could keep yourself distant from me, because you knew it would not last. I did not have that luxury.”

 

“If you think that is true, then you fail to understand the affect you had on me, Antony,” Stevyn replied achingly. “I may have known, but I could no more keep my distance than you, else I would not have come to you so frequently in that time. I tried. You know I tried to deny you, but I could not. I cannot. And that is the reason I shall leave Renevaar if this does not work. If I reside where you are, I should not be able to fight my desire for you.”

 

“Fool,” Antony said again, but it was soft and tender.

 

“Aye,” Stevyn agreed, shifting closer along the log they were perched on. For the first time, Antony didn’t shift away. “Aye. Perhaps you speak truly, but I can do nothing else.” He nosed into Antony’s space, lips brushing his.

 

“Chiefson,” Antony said, drawing back a little.  
  
“Stevyn,” was the soft reply, one hand coming to Antony’s jaw to steady him. “Antony…”

 

“Chiefson, cease,” Antony said pleadingly. “ _Stevyn_.”

 

“I cannot.”

 

Stevyn closed his mouth against Antony’s. It wasn’t a long kiss but it somehow lingered then Stevyn drew back and moved away again. Long moments passed before Antony shimmied up the log so they were sat much closer together for the rest of the evening.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

They came across the first scout the next day.

 

An arrow whizzed past, narrowly missing Leialak’s wing and he screamed a challenge and threw his body back, nearly unseating Stevyn.

 

Klinte already had an arrow knocked and drawn in the handful of heartbeats it took Stevyn to re-settle his gryph.

 

“I can see you!” Klinte shouted. “And I am a far better shot than you, Olyvr!”

 

There was a bark of indignation before a blond man on a gryph much like Klinte’s own but with its feathers dyed in variegated greens shot out of the trees. He was grinning.

 

“Thought I taught you better than that,” Klinte said disapprovingly, but they were both grinning as the man - Olyvr - drew close enough to clap his shoulder.

 

“Nonsense. I taught _you_ everything you know,” Olyvr said. He looked behind Klinte, green eyes sharp. “Natya. You are well-come.”

 

“Thank you. Though your arrow says otherwise,” she said dryly.

 

“I missed did I not?”

 

“I always knew you were a bad shot,” Klinte put in.

 

“No, you know had I wanted to, the arrow would have struck its mark,” Olyvr replied. “Come now, what brings you home? Haven’t you a bonding to attend to?”

 

“That is what brings us here,” Natya said. “We must speak with my mother.”

 

Olyvr’s green eyes slid past her to Antony and Stevyn. “And these?”

 

“I am Stevyn and this is Antony.”

 

“Stevyn? Stevyn Chiefson?” Olyvr said, glancing back to Natya and Klinte.

 

“Aye,” Natya said shortly.

 

Olyvr looked from one to the other, green eyes narrowed and shrewd. Eventually, he gave a slight nod. “I knew this would happen anyway,” he said and turned his gryph about before they could ask him what he meant. “I will send a carrier pigeon ahead so you are shot at no more. My turn at patrol is done in two days. I will see you then if you have not already returned to Renevaar.”

 

“Wait-” Natya called, but he was already gone, waving over his shoulder. “Knew what would happen?”

 

Antony snorted. “Is it not obvious to you?” he asked. When they didn’t reply he went on; “They must have known you to be in love with Klinte, or at least he did. He means he knew you would not go through with the bonding.”

 

Natya was silent and eventually Klinte got them moving again, winging towards Aisua.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Aisua was very beautiful. It lay a lot lower than Renevaar, in a more temperate region and it was festooned with greenery, vines and flowers. Its streets were cobbled, like Renevaar’s, but Natya explained it was to keep the undergrowth from taking over again and snagging gryphon claws.

 

Natya’s people were clearly overjoyed to see her and there were plenty flocking around both her and Klinte when they landed. Stevyn and Antony they gave a wider berth and Zaleiza and Leialak automatically pressed shoulder to shoulder, taking comfort in the familiar when unfamiliar gryphs lead or ridden by their masters began to examine them.

 

“The ornamental gryphs are spectacular,” Antony remarked, pointing to a golden pheasant gryph which sat on a perch not far from them alongside a rosella gryph.

 

“I find it fascinating their feather colours are so strong they overtake the pigment in the cat fur,” Stevyn replied.

 

“And oft times it seems to overtake their brains as well,” Klinte said dryly. “Some of them are near impossible to train. They just do not have the intelligence of the predatory species.”

 

“Have you tried to crossbreed?” Stevyn wondered.

 

Klinte laughed. “Aye, but you see the problem is the females instinctively look for the sorts of displays those coloured feathers are meant for. Most of the predatory breeds certainly lack the colouring.”

 

“But you have dyed Ka’a and Olyvr’s gryph was also dyed,” Stevyn said.

 

“Aye, but that hardly makes them willing to give a mating display like a peacock or pheasant might.”

 

Stevyn nodded, humming in thought. His mother would adore a gryph like that. She was already painting Natya entirely as an excuse to paint Rah’la’lai. He could already see many ways Aisua and Renevaar could help one another.

 

“Typical,” Natya said. “You three carrying on about gryphons when we have a job to do.”

 

“We were just waiting for you to finish meeting and greeting,” Klinte said, sounding innocent but smirking all over his face.

 

Natya scowled at him and Antony leaned towards Stevyn. “Braver man than I,” he muttered.

 

“Or more stupid,” Stevyn suggested.

 

Antony laughed and they followed the other two through the lush village.

 

Their reception was not what they had hoped.

 

Natya’s mother saw them in her hearing room, were she would sit to receive the problems of her people. It was a clear statement of her power as she sat above them on a slightly raised dais. Natya genuflected low when she had approached and the others followed suit, even lower as they did not have the relationship she did with the Chief.

 

She was unsmiling, her eyes, the same crystalline green as Natya’s, narrowed to slits. What are you doing here, Natya?” she asked lowly.

 

Natya stood. “May I present Stevyn, Chiefson of Renevaar and Antony, the town’s Iron Man,” she said in lieu of answering.

 

“You are well-come, gentlemen,” the Chief said respectfully, though it was clear she was less than pleased with the group’s presence. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

 

“We-” Natya began.

 

“I spoke not to you, Chiefsdaughter,” her mother cut across.

 

Natya pressed her lips together, her hands tightening into fists by her sides.

 

“You should not be angry with her, Chief,” Stevyn said respectfully. “This was not even her idea. It was mine.”

 

“To what purpose?”

 

“The purpose of pleading a different treaty, my Lady,” he replied without preamble.

 

“Your Chief and Chiefsbound agreed to a treaty already,” she said, tension immediately flooding her frame. “You cannot back out now.”

 

“I do not wish to back out,” Stevyn said, lifting his hands placatingly. “Only to offer a different treaty.”

 

“Why? Have you a complaint against my daughter?”

 

“No, Chief, of course not. But my parents will not listen and it was our hope that you would listen. If you accept a different treaty, then we may take it back to them.”

 

“What makes you think I should do any different to your parents?”

 

“Nothing,” Stevyn said honestly. “But I… we had to try.”

 

She regarded him for a long moment, eyes shrewd and calculating, then she sat back in her chair. “What is so important that you would travel all the way to Aisua to discuss it with me?”

 

“Your daughter is beautiful and strong and clever,” Stevyn began. “And I have no quarrel or complaint with her. You must know that first of all. But I cannot bond with her because her heart belongs to another. To Klinte.”

 

The Chief dipped her head, spreading her hand across her forehead and rubbing a little. She looked more weary than surprised.

 

“Aye,” she said.

 

“Aye?” Natya echoed. “You knew this, Mother?”

 

“Natya, half the village knew.”

 

“But you still shipped me off to Renevaar!”

 

“Duty above all, daughter.”

 

“I do not believe that is a good way to think,” Stevyn cut in before it could become a full blown argument. “How can either of us be good leaders if we are miserable?”

 

The Chief looked back to Stevyn. “Both of you?” Her eyes slid to Antony and comprehension dawned. “I see… So you have come to plead for me to let you bond with those you have chosen rather than those that have been chosen for you.”

 

“Aye,” Natya and Stevyn said together.

 

“The treaty has already been struck,” she replied, avoiding their gazes.

 

“I would not turn on you, my Lady,” Stevyn said. “Renevaar will yet protect Aisua, and I can think of many ways we can benefit one another. Besides, is it not better for Natya to take up the mantle of Chief here when you are ready to hand it to her?”

 

She shook her head and still wouldn’t look at them. “I cannot renege on the bargain.”

 

“Mother-” Natya started.

 

“It is already struck.”

 

“I will not bond with Natya,” Stevyn said, voice steely. “I cannot.”

 

The Chief met his gaze with narrowed eyes, but he did not back down. He did not look away.

 

“Would you bring our villages to war?” she asked lowly, tight and strangely pained.

 

“Nay, good Lady. I should do everything in my power to prevent that. Everything save bonding with Natya. It is not fair when I cannot give her my heart, nor she in return.”

 

Something flickered in the Chief’s eyes and she passed her hand across her mouth. “How is your mother, Chiefson?” she asked abruptly.

 

Stevyn wasn’t the only one who blinked in surprise, blindsided by the question. “My… mother? She is well.” He glanced at the others then back to her. “Do you know her?”

 

“Aye, Chiefson, very well,” she replied wistfully.

 

They were all silent for a long moment before she suddenly stood up, pushing the flowing skirts of her dress back with a practiced flick of her hand.

 

“Tell me your new treaty.”

 

\- - - - - - -

 

The Renevaaran had been preparing for the bonding feast for months. They weren't the sort to let it go to waste, even if there had been no actual bonding when Stevyn and the others returned, along with Natya’s mother, to re-negotiate the treaty. They were drinking and carousing, laughing about the whole course of events and catcalling Klinte and Natya, who had been practically glued to one another ever since.

 

Stevyn was dancing with Buk, who was ridiculously drunk and paying no attention to the dark scowling and glares he was receiving from Brues. He barely noticed when Stevyn dragged someone else into his place and slipped away, drawn to Antony who was leaning against a pillar, arms folded and eyes tracking his every movement.

 

“Dance with me,” Stevyn said, offering a hand.

 

Antony dipped his head, looking up from under his brows and he didn't move from the pillar.

 

“Shan't,” he said. “Just because you are no longer promised to that Chiefsdaughter does not mean you have any claim over me.”

 

Stevyn hummed and crowded Antony back against the pillar, his hands pressing against it above the Iron Man's head.

 

“You are right,” he said with a nod. “But I should make one if you will accept it.”

 

“Oh?” Antony arched a brow, his mouth twitching. “I thought you despised me.”

 

Stevyn grinned.

 

“You certainly provide an unending source of frustration,” he replied. “But I also desire you. Intensely.”

 

“Indeed, Chiefson?” Antony teased. “Even though I have repeatedly lain you down?”

 

“Especially because of that. I must be provided the chance to return the favour.”

 

Antony tipped his head back against the pillar and laughed, but he unfolded his arms and the fingers of one hand slid into the feathers at the neck of Stevyn's victorycloak.

 

“You desire me?” he repeated.

 

“Intensely,” Stevyn said again, low and heated. “And you alone.”

 

“I alone? This is a bold statement from you, Chiefson. You who desire no man or woman alone.”

 

“I desire _you_ alone,” Stevyn said sincerely, dropping a hand to Antony's waist. “My eyes seek only you.”

 

“Aye? What if mine seek elsewhere?”

 

“Then I shall fight to win them.” Stevyn dropped his head, resting his forehead against Antony's. “But I hope it shall not be so. I will promise myself to you, Iron Man.”

 

Antony's eyes searched his.

 

“You will? And if I shall not promise myself in return?”

 

Stevyn met his gaze unerringly.

 

“Yet will I promise myself, and wait.”

 

Antony let out a surprised huff of breath, his eyes widening and he pushed at Stevyn's shoulders, shaking his head.

 

“Do not play with me, Chiefson,” he said, his voice tight and upset.

 

Stevyn didn't let him go.

 

“I am not. I mean it. I promise myself to you.”

 

Antony went still, his hands curling into fists in the thick tri-coloured feathers. Again his eyes darted, searching Stevyn's, and Stevyn did not back down, returning his gaze.

 

“You are a fool. What will the Chief and Chiefsbound say?”

 

“I am free to choose my own Chiefsbound and I can think of no reason why you should not make a fine one.”

 

The hall was loud with mirth and music, but silence stretched between them, long and drawn out.

 

Antony pushed him again, this time hard enough to dislodge him and he strode off across the hall and out into the evening air. Stevyn was straight out after him.

 

“Antony?” he called, reaching out a hand towards him.

 

“Do not touch me, Chiefson,” he said tightly, powerful shoulders hunching up. “Do you not understand what you have done to me? I had never thought there could be anything between us. I thought you hated me.”

 

“I thought _you_ hated _me_ , so I think we are relatively even on that score,” Stevyn replied.

 

“Perhaps,” Antony conceded. “But then there was something between us, and neither of us can deny how good it was. It was a powerful thing, Chiefson, impossible to fight and I did not want to anyhow.”

 

Stevyn said nothing, for he could think of nothing to say. Antony was describing exactly what Stevyn himself had felt and the Chiefson had no idea where he was going with it. Though some of the possibilities displeased him intensely.

 

“And you did not tell me until she was almost here that you were promised to that Aisuan Chiefsdaughter.”

 

“I tried... It was too hard. I did not want it to end,” Stevyn said, chagrined.

 

“It cut me deeply, Stevyn. It hurt. I had grown used to your presence. And oh, how I desired you. Each time we shared furs made it stronger, then you ripped it away. You could have told me sooner. You could have lessened the hurt. And now you expect me to just... accept your promise as though you have not done this to me?”

 

Stevyn lowered his eyes, dragging one hand through his loose hair.

 

“I am sorry, Antony. It was selfish-”

 

“Which for you is nothing new, Chiefson.”

 

“...Aye... but I will spend our entire lives making it up to you if you will let me. Accept my promise, even if you will not give me yours. Please.”

 

Antony's eyes narrowed and he approached Stevyn, sliding one strong hand into his hair and tilting his face as though to read his sincerity by the fingers of moonlight spilling down the mountainside.

 

“You would truly do that?” he asked again. “You would give me your promise without expecting the same from me?”

 

“Aye,” Stevyn said, his hand coming up against Antony's.

 

Antony stared at him a moment longer, then pulled away, turning his back.

 

“I do not accept,” he said, nose in the air, arms crossed and every bit as belligerent as usual.

 

Frustration welled in Stevyn's breast.

 

“Why?” he growled. “I am not asking the same of you! You lose nothing in this. You can change your mind at any time!”

 

“It is an unfair trade.”

 

Stevyn gaped at him.

 

“By the gods, what more could you want from me?!” he demanded.

 

“Nothing,” Antony said, a smirk in his tone.

 

Stevyn's frustration mounted and now he folded his arms across his chest.

 

“You are impossible, Iron Man! Perhaps I shall not promise myself to you after all!” he snapped.

 

“No?” Antony said, looking over his shoulder, one brow cocked. “Then it shall yet be an unfair trade, for I shall promise myself to you.”

 

The bluster went out of Stevyn.

 

“What?”

 

Antony's smirk grew to a grin and he turned on the ball of his foot, striding over to Stevyn and fisting a hand in his hair just behind his neck.

 

“I promise myself to you, Stevyn Chiefson, if you promise yourself to me.”

 

Stevyn didn't have time to grin before Antony was kissing him, hard and hot and intense and everything he'd missed. His hands caught the Iron Man's hips and, though he knew their relationship would never be all fair winds, he was looking forward to every minute.

 

It was best when Antony was driving him crazy.

 


End file.
